Many Magics
by TinkerVine le Fey
Summary: Narcissa Malfoy is not the woman of her public persona. Join her on her journey as she seeks to defeat the Final Enemy, allying with her former foes while discovering the many types of magic life offers. Loosely based on the HPMoR & Revival Universes, 10 years post-war.
1. Introduction

A/N: Hi readers! All the thanks for this fic go to The Coven, who are the incredibly supportive and marvellously talented group of Slytherins who so generously beta for me. I would be lost without them. Please do yourself the favor of discovering their collective works on the Priestesses of H.I.S.S. page, and favoriting Acantha Rayne Oak-Moon, Slytherclaw Black, and Tempest E. Dashon. I'll add in the other witches' pages as well as their fics come to life.

There will be some Lucissa, some Dramione, some Sev/OC and who knows what else my plot dragons come up with as our characters discover their magic.

This is AU, and as such not-your-Mama's Narcissa fic, as it were.

I do hope you enjoy my musings, and welcome your reviews as donations to my creative fires.

On with the show!

Xx Vine AKA Narcissa's Closet

Narcissa Malfoy was born the youngest of three daughters to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black in the mid-twentieth century. As expected of such a life, she was given every conceivable comfort from the very beginning. An excellent education was standard fayre of such an upbringing. Languages she would never make use of were deemed imperative knowledge, a plethora of negotiation tactics for her suspected and expected future as a society wife to an important and political man, and finally the family secrets and tainted history which she never cared to know more about than was absolutely necessary. Narcissa's personal and most, to her mind at least, more-than-respectable accomplishments were what made her feel the most prized trophy of the Black sisters - being beautiful, graceful, educated and accomplished should procure her a worthy and wealthy husband. She was blessed to have mastered many instruments, her most treasured skill of which being violin, excellent and graceful in the art of formal dance which paired beautifully with the knowledge gained at a young age of how to host extravagant and decadent parties envied by witches the world over.

Narcissa was a quiet, observant child, and highly empathetic. Due to her disposition, she developed an unfortunate reputation for being overly-sensitive, and eventually cold and withdrawn. In truth, overly-sensitive may have been accurate, but she was anything but cold. In fact, she felt so highly connected to those around her, she often saw fit to place distance between herself and others as a method of self-preservation. She was self aware enough to realize her propensity to love deeply and desperately, and how vulnerable this trait made her to exploitation. Not only would she steal fire from the gods for her sisters, she also became overly attached to people whom she quickly learned did not reciprocate her feelings or her actions.

She was never the flashy charms master her eldest sister, Bella, had been, or the bold opinionist and potions guru her middle sister Andy was. Each of the Black sisters were encouraged by their parents to develop their natural talents separately, exponentially increasing the strengths they already possessed. The sisters all delved vigorously into their respective studies, mostly to stave off the soul-crushing boredom of growing up silver-spoon fed and relentlessly sheltered.

After spending many hours apart during their daily tutoring and practices, the trio would gather on the plush rug by the library fire during the cold months, or on a soft blanket in their mother's immaculate rose gardens in the warm summer sun. They talked for hours about their respective disciplines, and Narcissa practiced her charms on Bella's unrelenting curls until they were as smooth and shiny as a calm night sea. After Bella went to Hogwarts, Andy and Cissy - as Narcissa was affectionately referred to by her sisters - would spend this precious time discussing their philosophies and speculating what the future would hold for them.

Once Andy began her academic magical education, only Narcissa was left by the fire in the winter, and the gardens in the summer. Her parents had very little time to give, and eventually Narcissa began retreating to the manor library to fill the hole left by their absence with stories and knowledge.

She loved the fantastic stories of the dragons of yore, and light stories of love and adventure. The many Dark magic tomes housed in the Manor library frightened the young witch, and the few times she gave in to her morbid curiosity to read them, she ended up with nightmares and waking terrors. Narcissa couldn't fathom how anyone could be so deranged to create some of the particularly Dark curses, used specifically for torture and pain, and often spent hours staring into nothing while despairing over the cruelty of the Wizarding world. Even so, she found enough objectivity to realize not all "Dark" magic equated with "evil" magic. Evil magic was in the hearts of those who meant to hurt others she ascertained, while Dark magic could many times be effectively used to protect against such intentions. Having observed Bella grow into maturity and become increasingly irritable and violent as her parents attempted to force her into betrothal contracts she had no want of, Narcissa concluded when people were hurting, they developed the desire to hurt others. As solving problems was her lot in life, Narcissa determined in the very moment she had this realization, she would never allow herself to become one of those hurting individuals.

When she became betrothed to Lucius Malfoy - handsome and seemingly intelligent heir to the mind bendingly enormous Malfoy wealth - at the behest of her parents at age 14, she made no effort to connect with him outside of their prescribed meetings and cordialities. A conqueror at heart and forever desiring a challenge, the frigid aloofness Narcissa displayed only enamored Lucius, and he began to fall deeply. He committed to proving to Narcissa he would become a worthy spouse, and made it his life's mission to give her everything he believed a woman could desire. He listened intently to any opinions he could coax from her, and enjoyed the respectful debate they would engage in afterward. Any tidbit of information she would allow him, he would catalogue for later reference and mention.

She didn't possess the dark and seductive beauty of her oldest sister, who was the same age as Lucius, nor the untameable warm beauty of her middle sister, who was derided in adult Pureblood circles and widely speculated to be a wood nymph by the rumorists of Hogwarts. Although not as conspicuously physically attractive as the older Black daughters, Narcissa's biting humor kept Lucius engaged and entertained, while her thirst for knowledge could often rival his own. Narcissa possessed a soft allure uniquely her own. Her shine was of a pearl, forged in the depths of life, not a gemstone birthed from pressure and fire. The blinding light of day did her no justice by exposing every purple vein of her eyelids and the sunkenness underneath. Lucius supposed her pale skin and light eyes were suited to the soft shine of the moon. He knew from experience the light of night would turn her lovely white hair a glittering silver, and he supposed it would turn her pale blue eyes into a fathomless open sky.

On the night he learned for certain this was the case, he vowed to spend as many moments with her in that open sky as life would allow.

For her part, Narcissa found Lucius's attention to detail captivating, and his persistence endearing. Never had she met a person so apt to earn her favor, or tenacious in his pursuits. As such, she guarded her heart with ferocity against his advances, and created a seemingly impenetrable wall of logic to protect her mind from becoming attached to his presence. She often repeated to herself this marriage was to help her gain status, to ensure she and her family would have stability. She would respond to his kindnesses as an employee would respond to an employer, by doing her best to perform the duties of her perceived role and do nothing to earn his displeasure.

Little did she know these efforts were for naught, as she would end up mercilessly indebted and compelled by her own conscience to stand by her new life partner to many ends of many worlds.

The wedding came and went in a glorious and outrageously elaborate ceremony. The newly minted Malfoys soon moved into Lucius's sprawling ancestral home, shared for a while with his curmudgeonly father who never remarried after his mother's untimely passing. Narcissa found herself more and more compelled towards her beloved as the months passed on, and looked forward to their evening chats and the mundanities of domestic life.

She soon discovered her doting husband asked very little of her on a day to day basis. With the Malfoy fortune at her disposal, she had no need for compulsory employment. The drudgery of cleaning and cooking was of no concern, as Lucius owned a small army of house elves to maintain the property. With her husband gone most of the day, Narcissa set to explore her desires and determine how to make herself useful in this new life. She began regimens to care more for her body and appearance, as that was the most obvious route in her estimation. She also studied various topics at whim, to make herself a more interesting conversationalist. She even attempted to expand her network of allies, however this proved difficult given the fast paced nature of society and the growing tension of the political climate. So it was, she began to stay more to herself, and longed for companionship.

When the day came for Lucius to finally ask a favor of her, it dawned on her what a reproachable job she had done at guarding her heart. Instantaneously she realized the level of effort her husband required of her regularly, was but a plot to procure her favor. The manipulation stung like ice water doused suddenly on her bare nerves. The favor he asked, was for Narcissa to bear his child.


	2. Responsibilities

A/N: All hail Acantha Rayne Oak-Moon, venerable High Priestess of the Coven and beta for this chapter.

So many praises to Tempest E. Dashon, fastest of our clan, who double-beta'd this chapter to quell the Redhats of anxiety and provides me with much needed validation. Go check out her Tomiones. No seriously. Shoo.

Enjoy!

Narcissa had never been terribly fond of children. Not that she had anything against any individual child exactly, but the weakness and vulnerability which inherently accompanied their youth unnerved her. Narcissa Malfoy did not like taking responsibility for such an uncontrollable circumstance as the wellbeing of other humans.

When the demands of motherhood were thrust upon her by her otherwise placating husband, Narcissa was faced with a no-win dilemma: she could either lose the husband she had grown fond of, along with her now immense wealth and looming status in society, or she could oblige his request, possibly to her own detriment. It was painful, in a way, as she knew she would be in fact gifting Lucius with a modicum of her freedom in either scenario. She would either be giving him the piece of her heart he had worked his way into, so he could find the life he wanted with another witch at his side, or she would be giving in to his demands and spending the rest of her life worrying about every facet of their son or daughter.

After many tear-filled deliberations, in which Narcissa unashamedly mourned her lost youth and fretted about her inadequacies, she chose the latter, and granted the Malfoy scion and herself a blessed baby boy.

From the day Draco Lucius Malfoy entered the world of the living, Narcissa knew she would never again be only the Daughter of House Black, or the Lady of House Malfoy; she would now be the Protector and Mentor of _her _only heir. The responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders, and caused her many sleepless nights analyzing how she may fulfill her new role to the best of her ability. Instantaneously it seemed everyone around Narcissa began to give their opinions on her health choices.

"You should be eating fruits instead of chocolate Narcissa. Chocolate is not becoming of the baby's disposition." offered her father-in-law.

"Cissy you should rest; overstimulating yourself will only make the baby fussy." chimed Lucius on more than enough occasions.

"You should sing more so your voice will be imprinted in the baby's memory." came from some random witch Narcissa bumped into at Gringotts.

The onslaught of well-wishers and opinion-giving was overwhelming to Narcissa, who became incensed and secretly began to doubt her abilities at caring for the newest member of her family. Being the youngest of her sisters, Narcissa had never been responsible for taking care of another's needs, aside from Lucius, who was, as far as needs go, very flexible and always appreciative. She soon learned Draco was a different breed altogether.

From day one, the Heir to the House of Malfoy was needy and demanding. As soon as he was born, Draco cried incessantly. He was always too hot or too cold, terribly sleepy but unwilling to give in to unconsciousness, wanting to be held but only in positions he deemed suitable. He was unable to nurse, and threw countless tantrums when given suitable replacements for his mother's milk. Narcissa had been unperturbed by this development until Lucius's father Abraxas had implied Draco's impudence was _her _fault, because _her _milk was obviously 'too full of spice' due to her _plebeian regard for onions and cayenne_, thus offending the subtle Malfoy palette of the heir. In truth, Narcissa had given up indulging her love of Indian cuisine long before giving birth, opting for bland and sweet foods instead, because of said baby's intolerance for her choice of meals. Her determination to feed her child never waned, and her moment of resolve finally solidified the day the Lovegood woman who lived nearby the manor brought a terribly pastel green bean-sprout cake in celebration of the birth.

"This cake is said to have ancient properties to strengthen a mother's constitution Lady Malfoy." The airy blonde witch had stated, standing barefoot on the Malfoy's entrance with all manner of bells and trinkets attached to her person. "However, should the baby not nurse, I hope you don't take personal offence. After all, dragons being reptiles don't typically nurse, so I wouldn't be surprised if he isn't fond of milk. Many babies survive on dried fairy sprinkles and water, and grow to be quite healthy." The woman smiled a faraway smile, and her gleaming blue eyes and white teeth along with her calming aura made Narcissa suspect she may be part Veela. She wasn't sure if she should take her comments as an insult, but Narcissa expected she shouldn't, and decided to be consoled by the kind, if strange reassurance.

From then on, baby Draco decided his best meal until he procured teeth would be milk from a purple cow, imported by Lucius and thoroughly inspected by a begrudging Abraxas, who eventually admitted "the boy must be fed, and at least the bovine's pedigree is immaculate."

The boy continued to cry unceasingly, sleep sparingly, and wail at pitches Narcissa had never before thought natural everytime she tried to sing him a lullaby. Narcissa had never been so thankful she was paired with Lucius, who seemed to bleed hospitality with his ingrained Pureblood sensibilities.

"Sleep, Cissy. I'll take care of our son" might have been the sexiest words she ever heard from her husband's perfect mouth, as he held a screaming Draco and murmured platitudes in his ear. Lucky for her, it was a phrase she heard often, and it deepened her love for him exponentially.

As the boy grew, the elder Malfoys trained Draco in many disciplines, from table manners to political maneuvers. Lucius rode brooms with the boy as soon as he could walk, and was taking him on horseback rides against Narcissa's best judgment by the time he stood as tall as the equine's front legs. Narcissa and Draco went on many picnics together in the Manor gardens when Lucius was away on his business ventures, where Draco would explore the wildlife, and question relentlessly the properties of the plants, animals, sky, and anything else which sparked his curiosity.

Around the time he was to begin his magical education, Narcissa bought Draco a custom wand, made of willow and dragon heartstring, for him to start practicing with. She taught Draco household charms and a few defensive spells, so he would be ready when he was surrounded by peers without her protection. Narcissa knew children could be cruel and dangerous, as well as appeasing to those they found superior. She resolved to do her best to place Draco in the latter grouping, hoping his proficiency with magic and inherent athleticism would earn him the respect of the other children and keep him out of harm's way.

She had outright refused to send the boy to Durmstrang as his father requested. Not only did Durmstrang provide a harsh and rigid environment not befitting of a person with Draco's temperament, but it was also an all-boys school, and Narcissa wished for her child to be exposed to all manner of magical children. How was he supposed to learn how to befriend girls if he was never exposed to them? How would he learn to interact with those from varied backgrounds if he was only exposed to the Pureblood Elite of the Wizarding World? Although these arguments fell on deaf ears with Lucius, she finally won her battle by claiming she wanted her son as close to home as possible, which was not untrue in the slightest.

Although her anxiety only increased as the years of being Draco Malfoy's mother went on, she could not help but be enamoured with her son, and quite proud of her resolve. The Malfoy heir wanted for nothing, and was asked very little of for the majority of his life. He was as sharp as a whip, with his mother's scathing wit and his father's good looks. Narcissa knew this boy would be the pride of the Malfoy name for generations. All in all, Narcissa felt the Fates had dealt her an easy hand, and for that she was grateful.


	3. Freedom

A/N: Here's a little backstory for my lovely OC. No need to worry, Cissy and Co. will be back soon. All Hail the High Priestess, keeper of the Slytherins and Beta of this fic, Acantha Rayne Oak-Moon. Would love to see your reviews.

Enjoy!

XxVine

1978 - 1989

Rianne Felthorne was, and had always been, unremarkable. So much so, she considered plainess to be her defining characteristic.

She was average height, with a stocky build - wide hips and shoulders dominating her otherwise feminine features. Her wavy hair was neither blonde nor red or even brown, just nondescript; her eyes neither blue nor green, landing in a dark, murky grey color outlined in a ring of black, set deep on soft purple pillows that spanned from her nose to her temples. Her lips were quite thin and wide; too red to be natural for most girls, but as Rianne lacked the pigment of most girls, save a few sparse freckles, she assumed it was natural for her.

She never excelled at anything she wasn't interested in, and very little held her interest for long. She had almost no athletic ability, which contributed to her bulky presence, and preferred to stay home and dabble in the arts while the other children played outside. She was a decent dancer and painter in her own estimation, but no one would be writing to curate her work anytime soon.

In Ireland, where she was born, she did well in school for the most part. Her parents were solidly middle class, and worked hard to send her for an early magical education from the age of four years. Thus, when her Father died in a fire accident when she was eight, she had mastered most household charms and all of the tiny magics that made the life of an eight year old all the more extraordinary.

Her mother decided to move the two of them to England to take a better paying job shortly following her father's untimely departure. Once all their tears were shed, her mother thought it best to start fresh with few reminders of how pleasant their life had once been.

Rianne hated Britain, with it's restriction on 'underage magic' as it was deemed in this strange and backwards place. Determined to continue in her self sufficiency, she sought to make friends in the row of flats where she lived, attempting to learn how to survive since her 'privilege' to practice magic had so savagely been revoked.

She quickly learned there were many rules here in Wizarding Britain, which were restrictive and controlling. Rianne developed a strong distaste for rules and authority, soon finding methods to circumvent all but the most oppressive. She was infuriated by the absurdity of washing soiled dishes with soap and a rag for example, when perfectly good cleaning spells existed. She learned that if her mother would leave a dish cloth charmed with an adult's magic, she could bid the cloth to help with her chores without the use of her wand. Being confined to the ground when she would much prefer to fly on a broom was a trickier prospect, but soon the children of the flats were all singing her praises when she convinced an older student to let them borrow his old broom while he was away at school. A broom of course, charmed with magic of legal age by the boy who had leant it to them.

Rianne got by with her clever rebellions for quite some time before her Hogwarts letter arrived three years later. She felt the prospect of being able to use her magic openly once more would be like breathing in much needed air after long minutes of drowning, although she knew the separation from her mother would leave a hollow place in her heart, especially after the passing of her father. In the end she decided to go, as the taste of adventure was thick on her tongue, and too tempting to resist. She mustered up every ounce of courage she possessed to look thrilled and not cry as her mother set her to depart on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. She assured her weepy matron she would be fine and that she would keep her abreast of what her and her friends would be up to.

At the Sorting Ceremony, the quiet bespeckled boy who had become her best friend in Britain was quickly sorted into Ravenclaw, with no surprise from Rianne. She was genuinely happy for him, although she would never consider herself a Raven, as she believed his solitary nature would offer him no qualms in the house of the intellectuals. As the Sorting continued, Rianne's magic danced with excitement for what the hat would offer her. As "Felthorne" was called and the musty relic sat stoically upon her bronze waves, she heard a voice come to life inside her mind.

"Well, well, Miss Felthorne". Crowed the ancient headwear

"A tricky sorting this may prove indeed…

The heart of a lion

With the mind of a snake

Searching for glory on which to feed."

Rianne wasn't sure whether she should be offended at the analogy the hat offered her as a glory hungry snake, but she had heard Slytherins tended to be quite smart, and so decided to take it as a compliment.

"But be aware, the hungry lions will devour your misdeeds,

While venomous snakes can bite your back

And trick you out of your conical hat,

While they enjoy watching you bleed."

Well that was a scary thought. Here she assumed she came to Hogwarts to make friends and learn magic…

"But your brave heart will keep you strong as you search to meet your ends

Stand strong young lion,

Your mind will guide you

It better be…

SLYTHERIN!"

The young girl smirked as she sauntered over to the table of snakes where polite claps and indifferent looks greeted her. She wondered momentarily if the hat had made the wrong choice; she would have much rather been welcomed with the whooping cheers and high fives that seemed ever-present at the Gryffindor table. She chose to remember the hat's parting words... that her mind would guide her; knowing her mind to be nothing if not a tool to warm the cold hearts of her housemates.

She watched the rest of the ceremony in awe, seeing her friends from the flats sorted into Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and even one more Ravenclaw, before finally having one other girl sorted into Slytherin with her. She resisted the urge to give the girl a high-five and a hug, and instead provided her with a more socially acceptable nod and her best Slytherin smirk. This would be a fun year indeed.

She took to her first classes as a mermaid does to water. Herbology was ok, she did like being outside. Transfiguration was quite entertaining, and she could certainly find many uses for the teaching. Charms was necessary, so she would learn the work and be done with it. She already knew much of Wizarding History and didn't much care for it, giving her a blank period to practice her Transfiguration assignments. Divination she was sure would give her time to sleep as she found the practice foolish and the teacher batty as a hatter with a satchel full of silk. Her last class of the week was Potions, and she thought it would be the most boring class on her entire timetable. She had never held such an incorrect assumption in her life.

A/N: I blame Moon for my new attraction to cliffies. Stay tuned!

Thanks for reading to the end!

All the green fairy sprinkles for you and yours,

Vine


	4. Sound Judgement

A/N: This one gets long and angsty - but Narcissa would like to let you know all of her story, not just the happy parts. They are, afterall, part of what makes her who she is.

All praises to Acantha Rayne Oak-Moon, High Priestess of the Coven and Keeper of the Slytherins for beta-ing this chapter.

T/W: Non-descript mentions of murder, gore, and coercion. PM me if you want a synopsis.

Enjoy!

1990 - 1994

The years leading up to the Second Wizarding War were the hardest on Narcissa. Contrary to popular belief, the branch of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, from which Narcissa had been raised in, held no open hatred for Muggles. In fact, they treated Muggles as if they were a non-existent fairy tale myth, never speaking of them to their girls. The first Narcissa had ever even heard of these strange, non-magical beings was when Bellatrix came home for Winter Solstice her first year at Hogwarts; telling Andy and Cissy horror stories of savage beasts who burned their ancestors at the stakes and sought to steal their magical powers in today's world. When Narcissa asked her mother if these stories were true, she answered tentatively:

"Cissy, Muggles are as real as you and me, but they are dangerous. They are a malevolent sub-breed, and unable to accept our kind. You would do well to distance yourself from them, and continue living your life as if they did not exist at all."

Her denial of reality was impossible to maintain however, shortly after she entered adolescence. Lucius had been coerced by his father, on threat of disownment, to take the Dark Mark when he was sixteen. Young, impressionable boy he was, he chose to stay in the Malfoy patriarch's good graces by following in his footsteps and subsequently not being burned from the family tree. She worried for her betrothed's safety constantly, and offered to use her entire dowry to escape to a country not involved in the war.

Lucius was unwilling to run from his own follies or suffer execution, and despite Narcissa's subtle attempts to sway him in another direction, chose to stay in Britain and deal with the consequences he brought upon himself when he was just a boy who had never experienced hatred. It wasn't until the first time he was forced to murder a Muggle at wandpoint that he realized the grave error of his youthful need for acceptance by his father. With no foreseeable way out of his painful dilemma, Lucius opted to play his role cunningly, and swiftly moved up the ranks of the Dark Lord's hierarchy with a combination of financial support and grounding political prowess.

Being the Dark Lord's financier had its benefits, which in many ways greatly mitigated the plethora of drawbacks. For instance, Lucius was rarely sent on raids, nor was he expected to get his hands dirty with the more violent aspects of the would-be dictator's campaign; something for which he was personally very grateful. Unstable though he was, Voldemort understood he needed a figurehead in the Wizengamot to further his pursuits, as well as someone obedient who could manage the funding for his war effort. Therefore, he wasn't keen on risking Lucius's life or freedom unnecessarily. Lucius for his part was happy to defect the leading of violence onto the continually maddening shoulders of Bellatrix; much to his wife's dissatisfaction.

Narcissa never was able to see her sister for who she was, rather than who she had been as a child. It was Bellatrix's spiralling descent into insanity which drove the sisters apart, and eventually led to Narcissa asking for help from the only resource she knew she could trust: Andromeda.

Although Narcissa vowed to stay neutral in the war, despite Lucius's involvement, she knew she would be dragged into it in some capacity, if only to protect her family from collapse. Bella and Andy had inconveniently taken diametrically opposed positions in the war, with Bella being the Dark Lord's 'Most Faithful' and Andy being a member of Dumbledore's 'Order of the Phoenix'. Narcissa was pulled apart by remaining neutral, and distanced herself from both sisters because of the war.

With a shame filled heart, she sought out Andromeda on a bitter winter day, long after the older sister had been burned off the Black Family Tree for being tainted from her purity and labelled a 'blood traitor'.

"Cissy, you are honestly the last person I expected to see gracing my stoop." the elder witch greeted coldly, with an undercurrent of disdain as she ushered Narcissa inside from the unrelenting sleet.

"Truly, Andy, I could say the same of you." Narcissa quipped with a guilty sadness, pulling her older sister into a tight embrace.

Harkening back the tears she dared not shed in front of her estranged little sister, Andromeda decided to make the visit as direct and short as possible.

"To what do I owe a visit from the high and mighty Lady Malfoy?"

"What do you know of Muggle brain magic? I believe it's called science?"

The elder sister gave an incredulous glance.

"I'm no expert but I have a passing familiarity. What are you up to Narcissa?"

The younger witch felt a stinging hurt at her sister's implications. Andy thought she was here to spy for the rebels and out her own sister! Narcissa Malfoy may have been many things, but a traitor to her family she was not. She pressed forward, a pained anger evident in her features.

"Andy, I'm here because of my worry for our sister."

Andromeda's countenance lightened from careful suspicion to concern at this statement. The blonde witch continued...

"I am sure you must have noticed, she has become increasingly unhinged every year since she was eleven."

Andromeda nodded in agreement, but remained silent.

"I've been studying brain-curses and soul-breaking curses since I first noticed, Andy, and I'm afraid my research has left me empty handed. Thus, I believe our sister may be suffering from some physical malady of the brain… perhaps of the non-magical variety."

Andromeda nodded in understanding, her brow furrowing in concentration.

"You wish for her to partake in a non-magical cure then?" the brunette correctly inquired.

"If that is what is required. Perhaps, if we can figure out her exact ailment, Lucius could slip the antidote into her drink at one of those Merlin-forsaken meetings they attend together, and our sister would come to her senses." Narcissa stated optimistically.

Andromeda's eyes filled with tears again, all semblance of animosity drained from her features as she grieved for her sisters.

"Cissy," she began softly, placing a stabilizing hand on Narcissa's shoulder as the two locked eyes "Muggle medicines don't work immediately like potions do. She would need to ingest the antidote at regular intervals for it to be effective. Potentially, for the rest of her life. That's if we could correctly ascertain what is going on with her without her knowledge, and without a Muggle Mind Healer, which is highly unlikely."

Narcissa briefly considered having Lucius doctor Bellatrix's drink at every meeting, and quickly thought better of it. The risk multiplied the longer he was involved, and if he was discovered, they could all could be gruesomely faced with their own deaths.

She winced as she broke eye contact with her sister, staring furiously at the ice melting on her dragonhide boots, as it mingled with the salty tears streaming off her face.

Andromeda gingerly took Narcissa's chin in her hand and tilted her younger sister's face up to meet her eyes again. Andromeda's countenance was resolute, and her voice strong as she spoke again.

"Come find me when the war is over Cissy. We will get help for our sister. Despite how she has treated me, I would also like to have the sister we once knew back if it's possible, if only for the sake of your happiness."

Narcissa sobbed unapologetically into her sister's shoulder, murmuring about how Bellatrix would likely get herself killed before the end of the war.

Andromeda held her tongue at the notion that if Bellatrix got herself killed, it would be her own punishment upon herself, for letting her fear turn to hatred, and hatred turn to violence. She knew the sentiment would be ill-received by her sensitive baby sister, and thus chose to say nothing further on the delicate subject, silently rubbing Narcissa's back instead; taking her sister's pain upon herself in consolation.

Narcissa apparated away shortly after, bidding her best regards be passed along to her niece, who she barely knew anymore.

The war mounted quickly, and escalated dramatically in too short an amount of time. Narcissa's head whirled as it seemed one moment her life was stable, and the next her husband and oldest sister had both died a gruesome death in a graveyard in what had been determined to be a mass-sacrifice on the part of Voldemort in an attempt to vanquish the Boy Who Lived.

An unsuccessful attempt at that, as the Dark Lord ended up vanquishing himself instead, for the second time no less.

Narcissa was lost without her beloved, but refused to grieve knowing Draco's loss was greater than her own. In time, she may find another lover; Draco however, would never find another Father.

Ramifications of the war hit the Malfoy duo hard and fast - eighty percent of their Gringotts vault had been confiscated in reparations and compensation due to Lucius's alleged war crimes, and while they were by no means impoverished, the loss was evident in their morale if nothing else. Draco's once alabaster skin had turned sunken and pallid, while Narcissa's naturally petite frame dwindled to skeletal. Neither could find appetite, except for the occasional late night trip to the Malfoy kitchens to shed silent tears over apple tarts and ice cream.

Ostracized from society while simultaneously - and publicly - trying to restore the Malfoy family name with generous contributions to the victims of the war took its toll on Narcissa. Everyday she would visit orphans, make speeches about the atrocities of war, and assure the press the Malfoy Foundation had it's finest minds working to analyze the causes of the war and prevent such a catastrophe in the future. Every night she would lay in her daffodil scented sheets and mourn the loss of her husband, and her sister.

A year after the last of the war ended, when Draco was fourteen, something in her her mournful life changed.

Severus Snape showed up in her foyer with a nondescript grey suitcase.

A/N: Whew, that one was hard to write. If it was equally hard to read - here, have some virtual apple streusel and vanilla bean ice cream. Draco's favorite.

If you would like a full description of how Lucius died, I recommend reading the "Shut Up and Do the Impossible" chapters of "Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality" by LessWrong, who I borrowed the scenario from.

For a description of his reanimation, read the first few chapters of "Revival" by xingxingzf. Actually just read the whole story when you have time. It is a marvellous literary work.

As always, many thanks and blessings to my amazing and longsuffering beta Acantha Rayne Oak-Moon for putting my characters in their place. This story would just be dust on the wind without her support! Also, do you like my Moon-esque cliffy? What's in the suitcase? Mwah ha ha ha.


	5. Empathy

A/N: Beta Credits for the scene at the end go to the Almighty Claw, Bringer of Tears and Wrangler of Wild Munchkins.

Please get yourself some tissues and check out her wonderful Zabranger fic All of You by SlytherClaw Black. You can thank me later.

Acantha Rayne Oak-Moon deserves credit for inspiring all the Snapey-goodness and serving as editor for this chapter.

T/W: Violence, violent death, mentions of potions abuse, sexual references, all the badness. PM me if you prefer a synopsis.

On with the show!

1989 - 1993

The Potions professor was a dark man, all black hair and billowing robes and impressively harsh eyebrows. He wafted into the room as an angry god perched upon a storm cloud, silently scaring the waiting Slytherin children to trembles. Not Rianne. She was intrigued. As he began his long winded speech about bottling fame and brewing glory, her young mind latched on to the inky blackness of his glare, raptly cataloguing every passionate word to replay in her memory for years to come. If anyone wanted to stopper luck, it was definitely Rianne, and if anyone knew how, she was almost certain it was the acidic Professor Severus Snape.

It was at that moment she determined to excel at something for the first time in her life. She would be the most attentive Potions student he had ever taught, she decided. Her work would be meticulous. Although from the sounds of it, the study would be quite difficult, she would place all of her efforts into this single undertaking until she was the luckiest, richest, most knowledgeable Potions Master the world had ever seen.

That's what her heart would have her believe, anyway.

In truth, Rianne did become the model Potions student, if not the most innately talented. She set her mind to understanding the properties of each ingredient, and frequently practiced her techniques after class to ensure she was getting the most from her supplies. She always made high marks on Snape's needlessly difficult exams, and thus began tutoring other students in the subject as the year passed on. She quickly became the envy of her house for being Snape's favorite. Many grudgingly began accepting her as an ally, seeing as she won them sizeable and unprecedented house points from everyone's least amicable professor.

As the years waxed on, and the war loomed closer, Rianne began to delight in frivolity to occupy her mind. Although having been in Britain for over half her life, she would always consider herself a foreigner. Not having immense wealth and a pristine pedigree seemed to cement her place in Wizarding British society, thus she decided this mercurial war was not hers to fight, and she would put forth a good effort to mitigate the effects of it happening around her. No one, she vowed, would get the delight of watching her bleed for a cause she didn't believe in.

So began her journey of dabbling in Glamouring Arts around the start of her third year; whilst many of her friend's were becoming infatuated with the attention of their peers. She started with glamouring the purple circles in the hollows of her eyes here and there. Then began the outlining of her eyes in kohl colors and charming little sparkles to glint off the waves in her hair. By the start of fourth year, she had taken on a completely new appearance, with full red lips and dark alluring lashes and a cinched-in waist to completely hide all of what society deemed to be her more unfortunate traits. She wanted to be taken seriously, and rather enjoyed the attention she got for looking the part; although the attention was never returned to her tragic would-be suitors.

Being that she was the only witch of her age with the magical strength to hold these charms for any length of time and the talent to do so, she began currying favor with many of her peers who wished to utilize her expertise. She would obtain a Charms essay here, a few honeyed treats there, until eventually she had a profitable little business in the Slytherin common room. She used the money garnered by decorating the girls and boys of Hogwarts to save for Potions supplies, and with the astute attention of her favorite Professor, started brewing her own skin healing potions to help the glamour magics to be applied more smoothly. She turned a tidy profit selling the potions to the acne-clad masses, and soon had the funds to procure a few sets of decent robes, and help her mother with minor expenses while she was away at school.

Around Sixth Year, her passion for her craft began to wane, as she felt she knew all known knowledge of glamour charms used for beauty. She could whip up a hair potion in 10 minutes, and many times she would glamour other students without pay just for the enjoyment of helping another person feel their worth and meet their ends. In lieu of focusing on her business, she ran headlong into her potions studies. Potion Masters were paid well, she knew, and if she could find a sponsor to send her to University, she may be well on her way to a self-sufficient future, where the politics of where she was born and to whom would matter much less.

She began spending hours after classes in the dungeon Potions lab, perfecting her craft to sit for her exams. She found herself genuinely heavy hearted any time Draco Malfoy's father would pop in for a visit, and she would be excused from her study, or when Snape had a particularly clandestine detention to attend to and she wasn't allowed to use the classroom. The melancholy Potions professor and one time Headmaster would usually sit quietly as she worked, grading papers with a look of disgust on his already severe features. As they passed their time in silence, Rianne briefly acknowledged the feeling she would like to be the one to make that look dissipate, then chalked it up to silly schoolgirl fantasy and quickly buried the feeling. While those daydreams had to stay just that, daydreams, she could never quite hide the physical reactions these thoughts invoked. Sweaty palms, accelerated breathing, and the annoying tremble that manifested in her hand while she was prepping ingredients.

That was, until one trying day towards the end of Sixth Year when the then Headmaster had a particularly forbidding look of disgust, and exhaustion, and what Rianne perceived to be pain etched across his face. She ached to reach her fingers out and soothe him. No one should have so many burdens upon them. While she may not know all or even most of them, each one was a pang upon her heart. As he sat liberally scrawling red x's across a myriad of assignments, Rianne decided to use her well cultivated humor to try to appeal to his better nature.

"Professor?" she intoned, cautiously. Never tickle a sleeping dragon and all that…

"What?" was his sharp-tongued reply.

"I was wondering, in first year, you said you would teach us to stopper luck, however, we've yet to learn to brew Felix Felicis. I've heard you're the foremost authority on the potion." She hadn't actually, but she assumed he was. "Will you be teaching it in Seventh Year?" She knew he wouldn't, as it was banned by the Ministry.

His countenance softened as she looked into his eyes and felt a feather light prickling of her conscious. At his look her traitorous heart began beating a thunderous war cry. Surely he must be able to hear it if not see it.

He sighed. He responded not with a clever retort or betrating commentary as she'd hoped, but with an honest assessment of the situation.

"I'm not, actually. Given further consideration, Felix Felicis is a very dangerous substance. It is banned in the Ministry for a reason." He rubbed at the lines between his eyebrows. Rianne's traitorous heart fluttered. "It's highly addictive and can take years off of one's life while being a danger to those around which it is utilized."

Her face was crestfallen, as she sensed the tingling in her mind subside. She gathered each bit of her Gryffindor side as she took a deep breath; however, her voice came out small and mouselike.

"Would you teach me? I promise not to use it without your permission… I'm sure with the war going on, there are many who would buy it if only to extend their lives for a while, and..." she hesitated, looking down to the floor in shame. "I could always use the money."

Snape leaned back in contemplation, quickly schooling his features into an unreadable mask. After what seemed like an eternity, his rich voice melted all of the tension from her body.

"You will not use the product without my permission. I would exact a vow, however, I have quite a distaste for them. You will give me your word, and should your word return empty, the hell you will pay will make this war look like a delightful afternoon at the beach."

She barely contained her squeal of excitement, instead opting for an ear to ear blinding smile. She wanted to run up and hug the professor in thanks for his faith in her, but decided to wait until the Felix was brewed to chance such a misstep.

"One more thing before you wet yourself in mirth." He drawled severely "You will not, under any circumstances, sell the bottles. You will help me brew them for my own stores. If you prove your competence, which I have no doubt you possess, you may keep one vial. One. To be used under duress or the threat of your life. Am I understood?"

The idea of not being allowed to sell such a valuable asset considerably dampened Rianne's mood, but the dissatisfaction was quickly forgotten for curiosity over why Snape would have an entire store of Felix Felicis in need of replenishing. The thought of him compulsively indulging in Liquid Luck caused her chest to writhe in sympathy and longing for better days.

Meanwhile in the back of her mind, her Gryffindor and Slytherin parts high-fived each other at the matter-of-fact compliment Snape bestowed on her abilities.

They began the Felix production the week following, and both were consumed with the task. As the potion took one month to properly brew, and several intermediate steps, they met in the Potions classroom daily to check on the various cauldrons of concoction. During this time, day by day, Rianne decided to test her burgeoning skills at banter on the cloistered professor. She found herself yearning to know more about the secretive man, who kept all feelings but wrath close to his chest, and all thoughts but his aptitude guarded deeply in his fascinating mind. Words were her blade, and she fancied herself to cut his defenses in two with them.

"Ah, another day with the dunderheads. Should I glue them to the ceiling for you?" She would attempt.

He would roll his eyes and talk about potions.

"I see your eyebrows are on your nose again. I could glamour them for you if they grow together from there professor."

He would frown and talk about potions.

A dull blade then. she sulked internally.

As the Felix was nearing its completion, she decided her approach wasn't working. As her better judgment astutely discouraged, she doubled down on her endeavor.

"Headmaster," she said one day, as Snape glided in looking diminished, pallid, and for all purposes dead. Longing to bring a spark of vitality to his heavy soul, she decided to bring the full electrocution of her cleverness to revive his ghostly visage.

"You know, there are several Seventh Years who seem to fancy you."

"I'm aware." was his cold reply.

_Success!_ Her inner Gryffindor relished. _Keep going! _

Her Slytherin side filed her nails and noted _Your funeral, mate._

She listened to the lion.

"I overheard two of them speaking in the library, and they were saying some positively revolting things about you sir, if I may be so forward." she remarked.

"Ha." he replied in the worst apparition of a laugh Rianne could remember. "Imagine that. Students saying revolting things about a revolting man, referred to colloquially as the Bat of the Dungeons."

He grimaced and turned to have a seat at his desk. Rianne faltered. She hadn't expected this turn of conversation. She improvised.

"Au contraire, Headmaster." She continued, slinking up to the front of his desk to have a seat directly in front of him, crossing her legs in an imitation of seduction and placing her folded hands primly on her knee. "I don't believe they find you revolting at all. I for one certainly don't. I think you're positively charming."

_Too far!_ _Too FAR!_ screamed Gryffindor and Slytherin in unison.

Rianne internally told them to shut it as she heard for the first time ever her stoic professor laugh out loud. This moment would go down as the greatest achievement of her life, she was positive, so she went on.

"As a matter of fact," she continued conspiratorially "I believe they might be receptive if you ever decided to call on them to help you relieve the stress that seems to be weighing down your otherwise delightful countenance." she sparkled with a pleased smirk, as she inspected her nails triumphantly.

His laugh contorted into a snarl, as Rianne curtly apologized to her mind for not heeding it's wise foreboding.

In one swift movement, he grabbed her by the collar of her uniform blouse and she was jerked to a standing position, inches away from the enraged mouth of a Very Dangerous Death Eater. Yes, Rianne forgot to include the "this man is quite a formidable opponent" variable in her smitten, emboldened state. Although she mutely realized her shirt and tie were restricting her airflow, she couldn't help but hope somewhere in her primal brain that this was going to lead to a heated and thorough snogging on the Headmaster's potions desk.

Her hope was sorely, irrevocably misplaced.

He barely moved his lips as he spoke low and methodically:

"And I suppose…" He began, tightening his grip on her collar, staring deeply into her now-bulging eyes "...you would like, to _help _me... with _that_, too?"

_Yes! YES! Holyhead fucking Harpies YES!_ Screeched Gryffindor.

"Can't..." gasp "breathe." were the very Slytherin words that escaped her mouth.

Snape threw her roughly into the chair with his large hand knocking any remaining wind from her throat as he began pacing the floor behind his desk.

"YOU!" his baritone reverberated off of the dungeon walls as he pointed a spindly finger at her, sending penetrating vibrations through every fiber of a gasping Rianne. "Are a CHILD!" he shouted, slamming his hands harshly on the smooth cherrywood of his desk. "THEY!" he gestured an open hand to the tiny windows allowing a smidgen of light onto the dank dungeon floor. "Are CHILDREN!" he punctuated with a fist slamming into his desk as he went on.

"You, all of you, think yourselves adult witches and wizards fighting in this adult war for these ludicrous ideals created before you were BORN, but you ARE NOT!" he bellowed, shaking the preserved specimens in their jars.

He lowered his voice to a chill inducing volume, growling through the slit of his mouth.

"Look at you. Pathetic!" He sneered in disgust. "With your charmed hair and your charmed face and you think, for one second, you might successfully cause me to part with my values. For what? A child _illusioned_ as an adult." He snorted. "I've had enough of _illusions_ and _deceit_ Ms. Felthorne! You may look many years your senior, you may make many potions practitioners pale in comparison to your diligence, but you fancy yourself a fully formed witch?"

He sauntered to the cabinet behind his desk, pulling out a copy of the Daily Prophet and slinging it mercilessly into her lap.

"Look at this. Do you read, girl?" Rianne nodded her head in answer to his rhetorical question. "Good. Then you should ascertain from this article that adults... adults are out there facing _this_." He pointed to the front page of the paper, where a headline stated in all capital letters

"DARK LORD VANQUISHES HIMSELF AGAIN! 30 DEATH EATERS FOUND DEAD IN MASS SACRIFICE!"

The paper was dated two weeks ago.

She had heard of the Dark Lord's downfall through pieces of eavesdropped conversation here and there, and the resurgent attacks against the Light forces following his demise, but she hadn't seen this. The Headmaster's change in demeanor started to make more sense now. If she had ever felt like a snivelling, entitled child, it was in this moment. She hung her head in shame.

"Do you know," The somber potions master spoke. "My confidant, my _only_ confidant, my only _friend_, was _beheaded_ two weeks ago?"

No, no she did not know that, and her mind swelled to bursting with shame at how reckless her words had been, how she had diminished this man's pain as if it were some kind of laughing matter. Tears welled in her eyes, and an apology formed on her lips, however she suddenly had no courage left to offer blank platitudes to this man who had been nothing but acquiescent to her.

He snatched the paper to return it to it's resting place in the cabinet as Rianne's tears streamed silently down her face. As she caught a quiet breath between sobs, Snape spun around with a vengeance, capes billowing in his stance.

"Oh, don't shed tears now, _grown witch_." His voice was seething and lacking in all compassion as he swished his wand violently to vanish her tears. "You find yourself cheeky, degrading my classroom with your ambitions to hold a tryst, then when fully grown problems present themselves, you dissolve into glitter and salt." He scoffed, and looked as though he needed to spit to cleanse the unpalatable words from his mouth.

She sobbed openly at this, Gryffindor having abandoned her long ago. A tender Hufflepuff side she didn't know she possessed came forward to whisper intently

"I only wanted to see you smile."

She gasped for air, making the most ugly and undainty of sounds. "You've been so stressed… I only wanted to make you laugh sir. I wanted you to be happy if only for a while. I'm so sorry sir. I'm so sorry..."

A million other words danced in her throat. She wanted to tell him how _she_ wanted to be the one to make him happy; to illuminate the darkness of his black existence, however unworthy she felt she was for such a task. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was for the loss of his friend, and ask if there was anything at all in her miserable reality she could do to ease his pain. She wanted to tell him how she respected and admired his passion and expertise, and she would offer the world just to bask in the light of his fire, if not to be consumed by it. But the all-encompassing grief of having disappointed her Headmaster while making a consummate fool of herself dragged the words down into the battered abyss of her heart, drowning them as it went.

"Go" he commanded. "I'll send for you at the next step of the Felix."

"Yes sir." she gathered the pieces of her shattered mind and went.


	6. Hope

A/N: All hail xingxingzf! This chapter is a retelling of Lucius's reintroduction to his family, albeit through Narcissa's perspective. The idea completely belongs to the original author, I have just borrowed his scenario through the eyes of our heroine.

My amazing editor is Acantha Rayne Oak-Moon, tamer of Plot Dragons and writer of Are You Okay? The Green Fairy implores you to go favorite her now if you have been living under a rock.

On with the show!

_1994_

Severus Snape looked far worse for wear than Narcissa could ever remember seeing him. Looming in her foyer, rain-soaked and smelling of potions, it was evident the former Professor hadn't slept well for quite a while, and has potentially gotten into something that was ruining his health. The man's eyes were bloodshot, and his usual trademark sneer was a mere grimace of resistance.

Still, Narcissa greeted him politely and offered him tea as was customary. Severus responded with a cathartic

"I'll take a sleeping drought if you have any of reputable quality, after I deliver your gift."

Draco bid a house elf to go to the cellar to procure the requested sleeping draught for his professor, while assuring him it was of the highest quality, as he had brewed it himself.

"Delightful." Severus drawled with only a modicum of his usual sarcasm.

Narcissa's interest was peaked at the mention of a gift, which was wholly uncharacteristic of Severus. A gnawing dread dared to creep into her consciousness, which she firmly rejected and pushed behind her strengthened Occlumency shields.

Just then, a knocking came from the inside of Severus's dull grey suitcase, and a familiar voice intoned somewhat frantically

"Severus, I can't feel my legs!"

Narcissa's eyes involuntarily widened at the sound of the man's choked baritone from inside the parcel, and she immediately locked eyes with the former Professor in a questioning glare.

"Before we begin," Severus placated while rolling his eyes "I must implore you to **not **use Finite Incantatem under **any circumstances**. There is transfiguration at work, and I assure you I will not be able to revive him **again **for at least an hour."

Severus leaned to unlatch the suitcase.

The _thud _from the grey lid hitting the ground echoed with gravity around the walls of the foyer. One expensive black loafer stretched beyond the threshold, topped with bespoke grey trousers.

Narcissa trembled as she recognized the footwear, as well as the pale white fingertips now gripping the sides of the bag for stability.

A wisp of snow white hair became visible as the Potions Master offered his hand in leverage to the man.

Another black loafer landed silently in the foyer.

There was now a person standing in their home, broad shoulders, clad in a grey, tailored suit devoid of outer robes. He was tall and strong, pale as a full winter moon and twice as elegant.

A man who seemed, in all appearances, to be none other than Lucius Malfoy.

Severus turned to a shivering Draco who had panicked tears in his eyes, instructing him.

"You may question him in Parseltongue if you wish. Release your patronus unto him to verify his identity."

Draco broke out in a cold sweat while trying to conjure a happy memory to cast his patronus. He hadn't had any happy memories in so long. Quickly settling on the first one that came to mind: a time he and Lucius built snow-wizards in the back garden of the manor, and charmed them to sing carols to Narcissa, Draco raised his wand...

"Expecto Patronum!" came Draco's shout, as a silvery-blue Krait slithered to meet his eye, waiting for his directive.

"Go to my Father." was his command.

The corporeal snake dipped it's head in acquiescence, and curled itself on the now seated form of Lucius Malfoy.

Narcissa was dumbstruck as she watched this person, who looked very much like her dead husband, staring quizzically at her while casually stroking the head of her son's patronus as if it was a beloved pet.

"I'll leave you to it." Severus stated to no one in particular. "I'll be in the family living room if you require my expertise." He looked at Lucius with his black eyes boiling as much as possible in his sleep deprived state, and ominously intoned with his usual fury

"Do. Not. Die."

With that, the Potions Master billowed toward the family living room to reward himself with a well-deserved nap.

The man who was assumed to be Lucius stood, and opened his arms, welcoming a sobbing Draco into a long awaited embrace.

"Father! You're alive!" wailed Draco in a non-characteristic moment of vulnerability. "I've missed you so much!" he sobbed into the man's suit jacket. "We thought you were gone forever!"

_Forever… _Narcissa thought stoically. For the majority of her life, Narcissa had hoped the stories of the Veil were true, and she would one day be united with her lost loved ones in the afterlife. The war however had worn her optimism to the barest thread and she dared not hope she would ever see Lucius again; hope was much too painful to endure.

Here then, stood a man who looked and sounded like the man she had loved since her youth, comforting her son as he had on many an occasion when Draco was a boy. She remembered when Draco fell off his broom and broke several ribs, incapacitating him for days, and Lucius dropped all his business dealings to be at Draco's bedside. She remembered how Lucius had rocked Draco by the window when he was a baby spitting out every form of sustenance, imploring him to be a good little scion and drink his milk for Mummy. At that image, Narcissa truly wanted to hope, to _believe_ this was her husband - _alive_, back safe at home with her.

This person who was assumed to be Lucius turned to her, his grey eyes pleading for validation, as he smoothed Draco's hair and stretched his free arm out to her, to toy with an errant silver wisp over her shoulder.

"Cissy," he whispered, "You are more beautiful than memories could ever do justice to."

Tears plagued his eyes as he spoke, which certainly wasn't something she had ever seen from her Lucius. The display made her snap back to reality and batten down her Occlumency shields ten-fold. She wouldn't allow her heart to be crushed by whatever evil tricks of magic were being executed upon her. The Lucius pretender continued...

"You are as beautiful as the night I took you to France and formerly proposed to you, the night I asked you to be my wife." The corner of his mouth upturned slightly, as a look of faraway longing crossed his face. The look was a violent attack against Narcissa's resolve."Do you remember that night Narcissa?" he softly inquired, "Do you remember what you told me?" he questioned, _begged_.

Lucius looked as if he were in physical pain at Narcissa's silence. Draco, having shed his mourning countenance for one of confusion, hissed a question to his Father which Narcissa couldn't comprehend. The man turned to face him, chagrin on his face as he hissed a response and Draco burst into laughter.

It was then she knew her hope was not misplaced. She spoke, her trembling voice barely above a whisper -

"I told you to drink a sober-up potion because if you had to be inebriated to find the courage to ask for my hand you didn't want me as much as you were supposed to."

At that, the three reunited Malfoys embraced and even the house elves and peacocks celebrated with tears and champagne; Severus snored softly in the next room.


	7. Compassion

A/N: This one is a toughy. Please accept this virtual embroidered handkerchief I've stolen from the Malfoys for your troubles.

All Hail the High Priestess, Acantha Rayne Oak-Moon, who used her magic to work miracles on this chapter. Thank you Moon!

Very Important T/W: Non-descript mentions of suicidal hopelessness. If you or someone you love is suffering from this situation as our character is, please stay with us, and consider visiting the Suicide Prevention Lifeline website at suicidepreventionlifeline dot org. Your despair is real. Help, and hope, is out there - I promise from the bottom of my heart and first hand experience.

If you do decide to read (spoilers) Rianne makes it in the end, and is indescribably better for it.

Onwards!

As promised, once the potion was completed, Severus gifted one vial to Rianne along with an unexpected glowing letter of recommendation for University sponsors. Unfortunately, this gift provided Rianne with little more than a ten-fold increase in her warm feelings for her mentor. During and after the desecration of the Second Wizarding War, it seemed no one in Britain was able or willing to sponsor more than their own dinner tables.

The Potions Master and the cheeky student kept up sparse correspondence following the war. The first letter from Rianne was an arbitrary missive asking him his opinion on whether royal jelly or essence of snail would be more appropriate in a particular skin care potion. As she already strongly suspected the answer, the question was but a way of opening the door to the communication she somewhat obsessively yearned for since her adolescence. He replied objectively with his thoughts on the merit for each, and the years of silence following were somewhat oppressive, but she decided to enjoy the fact he deemed her important enough to respond to at all.

The years were hard on the destitute witch. She saw herself working in bars and shops and anywhere else that would pay pieces of her ever increasing living expenses. As such, her second missive was penned when she came across a vial of unicorn tears and wanted to know if he might give her advice on a reputable buyer. He responded immediately, not deigning to ask where she procured such a rare ingredient, offering her a healthy sum for her troubles. In return, she asked him nothing of who was purchasing the vial or what they would be using it for. The mutually beneficial transaction allowed Rianne a month's pay and then some, so she was able to breathe a bit easier while whoever was using the unicorn tears was surely receiving their fill of healing.

Rianne continued to chase her gold, fighting what seemed a losing battle with poverty. She schemed and she plotted, she starved and worked herself threadbare until her hip bones jutted out most unattractively and the hollows beneath her eyes held a daily glamour to hide the deep purple misery settling beneath. One day, as she was on the brink of giving up hope, she lay in her transfigured flat in an abandoned field and forced herself to think. She landed on a desperate and hare-brained idea and thus used a glamoured piece of thrown away parchment to write her latest correspondence with Snape.

_My Dear Professor,__I hope this message finds you well and in the best of spirits.__My situation is most dire. I won't bore you with the details but I believe I may have found a way out of it and I would be eternally grateful for your review and expertise.__The matter is quite urgent, and if you would do me the honor of sparing thirty minutes of your time to collaborate with me, I promise I will do everything in my power to repay you.__Please respond when you can. I'll be waiting.__Rianne Felthorne_

She lay in the spot where she had written the letter for two and a half days. Her strength faded so that she couldn't awaken for work and decided instead to let her dreams take hold of her and let her drift beyond the veil, if only for a while. She relinquished her hope of Snape replying to her frantic cry for help shortly after the raven had departed with her message and mused in her half lucid state that the man in her dreams who cared for her wellbeing did not indeed exist; the real man in the flesh would not bequeath his reply to a lovelorn schoolgirl.

A few hours past the time her transfiguration charm winked out of existence, a tawny brown owl landed beside her head, stretching out his talons impatiently for her to unfurl the parchment attached.

She used what was left of her sparse vitality to roll over and relieve the bird of his burden.

The letter read:

_Ms. Felthorne,__I do not like the sound of this predicament at all. Meet me in London, tomorrow, 3:00 PM sharp at the West apparition point. We will discuss the plans you have created to determine if they are viable.__An expeditious response is requested. The owl has an extra piece of parchment with a disposable quill for you.__Regards,__Severus Snape_

Had she been hydrated enough to shed tears, she knew she would have been a mess, drowning in her own awed and touched emotions. Instead, she forced herself to sit upright, petting the owl - partially in thanks for bringing her deliverance and partially to calm her trembling hand.

She quietly smoothed the extra parchment and used the disposable quill to inscribe the most loaded three words of her life.

_I'll be there._

After rolling her letter and securing it with the ribbon from Snape, she rifled around in her bag for the remnants of an Alpen bar she had been eating a few days prior, offering it to the owl as her penance. The owl ruffled his feathers as if to scoff at her meager offering before snatching the parchment from Rianne's hand and taking off towards his master. The bird might as well have been a Phoenix for the look of reverence she gave watching him fly away.

The woman suddenly remembered she hadn't eaten, drank or bathed in the past three days. With renewed vigor, she hastily grabbed a handful of sticks she kept on hand for times such as these and transfigured herself a bare bones tent and a large cauldron. Her "aguamenti" filled the vessel. She used her hands to take a languid drink of the cold liquid before aiming her wand below the transfigured cast iron and muttering "incendio" to make it worthy of bathing in.

_'I really should write to McGonagall, if she's still alive and let her know just how useful her lessons have been,' _she thought to herself, as she used her only towel and bar of soap in a painstaking attempt to wash away the smell of the outdoors.

The next day, she arrived at the apparition point cold and hungry. Her greeting from the billowing former Professor was a silent nod and a grasp of her elbow as she was side-alonged to a secluded cottage, only Merlin knew where. She noted she should have been afraid; however, fear had long since stopped having it's usual effect on her.

Snape provided no niceties to begin their conversation. For this, she was grateful. She had no honest words to answer the benign small talk of "How have you been?" or even "Would you like tea?"; such pleasantness would have her dissolving into a blithering idiot. She had never been so grateful for her former Professor's propensity for getting right to the point.

"Your plan, Ms. Felthorne?" he started, matter-of-factly; proving _her_ point.

Her response was just as sterile, opting to use every moment to hash out her desperate attempt to relieve herself of the burden of poverty.

"Suppose I wanted to market Dittany as a Muggle antiseptic without getting thrown into Azkaban. Is there a way I could remove the magical signature of the plant so it couldn't be traced?"

He thought for a moment before a slow, equally placid response manifested.

"You might not be able to remove it but you could potentially cover it. Mask it like you would a temporary wand. However, supposing you wanted to take part in such a risky endeavor, what would be your reward?"

_Reward. Ha_. she mused. _My reward is simply to avoid death, and I'm not sure the toil is worth it at this point_. She stuffed away her cynicism to give a pragmatic reply.

"Well, the money would be the first thing, obviously. When the Muggles realize how well Dittany heals in respect to their current methods, I'm sure I'll pull in a handsome sum as their supplier. In addition, the Muggles would have a far superior healing potion, so that's a bonus I suppose. People will live, and not die."

The Potions Master arched an eyebrow.

"And you would need…?"

She thought.

"A Squib certainly. Someone entrenched in the Muggle world to act as liaison."

He gave her an incredulous look.

"And if this Squib becomes well connected? What's preventing this person from taking your design along with your galleons? Surely you've considered that?"

She rebuffed immediately.

"A magical oath of course."

His patience waned, but he persisted.

"You can't make a magical oath with a non-magical person. There's nothing for it to bind to. You may as well go straight to the Muggles and declare yourself a god."

The witch went silent.

"However, if you take your natural talents, and expound on them…"

Her grey eyes stormed with anger and indignance at the audacity of his statement. Her volume increased.

"I would still need to get hundreds of thousands of galleons to attend University for my Potions Mastery license." The ire was evident in her voice as well as her eyes.

He replied calmly, providing a leaking ray of sun through her stormy emotions.

"Not that particular talent, in that degree."

"Then what?" she still sounded angry, although inside was a looming pit of dread, tying her stomach in knots.

He sighed.

"The glamour charms, you dunderhead."

Now she was well and thoroughly fuming. How dare he insult her intelligence by assuming she hadn't thought to put to use the talent she had been cultivating since she was a girl! Had he no decency? She replied with acidic indignation.

"Who is paying for glamour charms these days? I'm certainly not the only one starving."

His response was equally basic, in an attempt to neutralize the burgeoning hate inside her.

"And I'm certainly not the only one eating, Ms. Felthorne. Think!"

Silence.

She sighed, feeling defeat flood through her veins with the cold feeling of despair which had, for so long, been her only companion.

"Even the Purebloods are scraping their vaults to pay reparations, Professor. I'm not seeing who might be in need of a professional glamourist who doesn't already have one."

He smirked. What did he have on her, then? What information was he concealing? She wondered as he spoke.

"You are familiar with the Malfoys, yes?"

Another stupid question. She was sure it was a plot to further derail her limited composure.

"Of course." she bit back.

"You know then, that Narcissa Malfoy is a close companion of mine?" he questioned flippantly, still smirking.

Her anger momentarily subsided in favor of a gentle curiosity.

"Is she now?"

'_An interesting development indeed. If any family had the means to pay reparations and have enough gold left to afford a personal glamourist, it would be the iconic status symbols that were Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.'_

Severus reached Peak Smirk, billowing proudly at leading this particularly dense thestral to a stream she could drink from.

"I would be happy to inquire as to whether she and her compatriots might have need of your services for their considerable press exposure, which, as you may well be able to divine, will bring many more clients out of the gilded woodwork and toward your considerable talents in the field."

_'Was that a compliment? From Professor Snape? Bloody hell!'_ All of her former displeasure and offense melted into gut churning goo, leaving her lightheaded and faint. Her voice lacked it's previous conviction, coming out as smaller and weaker than she had ever heard it.

"You would do that? For me?"

He schooled his face, responding carefully.

"I would do that. Yes."

The scene unfolded for Rianne less like reality than a delightful fantasy. Through the fog of her despair, this sudden ray of hope shone, glowing, surreal and wholly unexpected through her misty conscious. Her frazzled brain wouldn't give her a clear answer as to whether she was experiencing the physical world, or if this was the Fates' way of providing her a soft escort beyond the veil to death. If this would be her dying scene, she would take advantage of the brief pleasure it provided. She spoke much more confidently, finding herself more the listener than the speaker.

"If it sits well with you sir, I would prefer you to see at least an example of my work before you make such an effort to recommend me for a contract of this magnitude. I would hate to, in any way, sour your reputation with a _close companion._" Some irrational, primal jealousy decided to slip past her lips and into the end of her sentence.

"I'm hardly qualified to judge what passes for beauty, Ms. Felthorne." he responded grimly.

"I'd feel infinitely more at ease if you at least tried, Sir." she placated, winking out of the glamour she was currently donning and gathering her hair into a queue in preparation of showcasing her prowess.

He stood watching his former student, unimpressed. Her slow uptake was uncharacteristic of the girl he once knew and it grated against his nerves as slowly as her progress.

His limited patience finally ended as he spat a rebuttal at her, hoping she would wake from whatever stupor had it's hold on her usually more than functioning mental faculties.

"Not on yourself, woman! That's hardly a showcase of your expertise," he gestured his hand as if to dismiss the idea as the rubbish it was. "If I am correct, you have been glamouring your own face since you were but a girl." he explained. "If you plan to persuade me of how you perform on the faces of others, why would you use yourself as an example?" he hoped the overtly simple ending question would jar her into comprehension.

He had a point, she conceded internally. She looked around.

"Is… there someone else here I can demonstrate with?" she asked in confusion.

"I'll let you answer that question." he intoned blankly.

Realization crept it's tendrils slowly into her dazed conscious. He could see the candles lighting in the previously dark corridor behind her eyes.

"On… You?! You want me to… You?" she stumbled incoherently, hoping she misunderstood his earlier implications.

"Always the star student Ms. Felthorne," he retorted sarcastically. "I assure you, if this task seems insurmountable, men in the circle of Narcissa's influence will be exponentially more challenging and you should relinquish your efforts before you dare begin."

Rianne was suddenly thrust back into the first potion lesson of her fourth year. He had assigned a test to assess how much information and gained skills they had retained from the previous three years. She had aced his quizzing then but it felt a lot more personal to be laying glamouring magics to, what in her opinion, was a masterpiece which could not be improved upon. Not that she could ever say the words she was thinking in the moment.

_'You're perfect already.'_

Racking her brain and gathering her courage, she stepped in close and rallied what remained of her sanity. Her composure fared less well and she trembled a little when raising her wand and hoping to Merlin this what-she-assumed-to-be-a-dream would not destroy the small amount of her dignity she had left.

"Is there anyone in particular you would like to look like, or…?" she asked tentatively.

"Just a general enhancement charm will do," he responded, looking away from her "Whatever magics you would be practicing on the society elites wishing to look their best for admirers."

_'Enhancement… ? Interesting turn of phrase,'_ she thought silently.

She stepped forward cautiously, gently reaching a hand through the air that was suddenly asphyxiating her with tension.

She nearly whispered: "May I touch your face?"

He coldly replied: "If it is required"

She felt once again like a stupid schoolgirl being repremanded for asking insipid questions and was actually surprised he didn't add 'dunderhead' on the end; although, she supposed it was implied. After a quick internal pep talk in which she assured herself she had done this many times and was in fact, the professional in this situation, she decided to educate her former Professor.

"Elemental magic tends to respond more easily and it looks a lot more natural wandless. I can use my wand if you prefer but it's much more nuanced if I use my hands."

His lips pursed as he doubted her intentions.

"Fine!" He snapped. "Get on with it."

She took his face in both hands, examining each place where bone met skin - the structure, the lines, the ill-keep. It was both magnificent and tragic all at once. How could she ever dare to enhance a face that wove such a story of loss and heartache, untold torment and neglect? What could she possibly do to improve him?

She began by using her thumbs to disillusion the shadowed indents of his under-eyes, wiping away every sleepless night spent in worry and fear. Her index finger softened the crease between his brows, from one of stern forebodings to quiet contemplation; her magic softly sweeping away the thousands of frowns that marked him as the harshest Professor in the history of Hogwarts. Where his cheekbones were sharp, her palms were soft, hollowing out the indentations beneath them to reveal the firm set of his jaw; she relished how the muscles tensed under her ministrations. She applied slight pressure with her ring fingers over his brows, letting the magic dance it's way into making each hair lighten a fraction of a shade as she went, transforming his severe countenance to one of gentle strength. She wiped away each line of hardship, trial, and headache, smoothing them into nonexistence. As her fingers trickled down his neck, she imagined she felt him shiver but convinced herself it was just her fanciful imagination, considering this was merely a fantasy, birthed from her wildest dreams.

"Your teeth?" she asked, nervously. "Would you like me to straighten them for you? Make them white again?"

"They have never been white." He stated flatly, burying his chagrin. "What would that entail?"

"It's just a soft brushing feeling. Quite pleasant actually." She replied as she leaned in close - purposely close enough for their breath to mingle.

Softly draping her fingers over his slightly parted lips, she let the magic flow through her until his teeth shone a brilliant white and aligned themselves as perfectly as if they were parchments in a filing cabinet.

_'If only the reason for his lingering scowl were as simple as this…'_ she mused.

Her middle finger painted a slight flush to his lips, plumping them as they filled with the lifeblood which was previously lacking. Finally, she smoothed both hands through his coarse hair, lightening the weight left by countless long workdays leaning over hot cauldrons, brushing it back into a queue at the nape of his neck, and securing it with a simple, thin braid of black leather.

"Finished." she breathed softly. "Have a look?"

The man strode off to his bedchambers as Rianne followed behind. He looked into the large Victorian mirror taking up half of the wall across from his bed. Even in the dim light, he could not recognize the man in his reflection. He looked as though he had slept for a thousand nights, been on endless holidays drinking pristine water and making merry in the sun. His countenance shone with a vitality he had never possessed, even in his youth. He gave in to the urge to touch his face, to learn if the skin there felt as smooth as it looked. It did. He swallowed a feeling he had no name for upon seeing himself as he could have been in a different world.

"Your work is impressive." he choked out "Narcissa will be smitten."

"Would you like me to hold the glamour for you, or…?" She offered with uncertainty etched in every syllable of her nervous tone.

"If you wish." came his nonchalant reply.

She immediately cancelled her magic and threw her arms around Severus as she burst into tears.


	8. Comfort

A/N: Unbeta'd because even wonderfully evil cliff hanging leaders need a break from work occasionally.

Enjoy!

Vine

Severus Snape had never been one to comfort crying women. That skill was most firmly in the grounds of Lucius's expertise, not his. If Snape had a Galleon for every time Lucius shagged some sorrowful witch after holding her for hours muttering placations in her ear, he would be a rich man indeed. If he had one for every time he had done such, he would be a pauper.

Severus Snape was not a man to cry easily, and certainly never in the presence of others. The tears he wept were locked in the confines of his heart, or at minimum left to water the graves of those who would never see them. He had never been one to be consoled by blank platitudes or empty promises of better times to come. On the contrary, he much preferred to hear a statement of fact, even if the fact weren't pleasant. He couldn't count the number of times his former comrades in arms would make a statement like "So, you ready to get Crucio'd tonight?" and it would bring him solace in the fact that those surrounding him were not totally inept.

Thus, Severus did not count himself as proficient at comforting the downtrodden. Alas, here he was, with a witch half his age soaking his robes in her misery.

"Sir?" She asked quietly, between the silent sobs that seemed to be wracking her frail body.

"Yes?" he replied.

She studdered a shaky inhale.

"Can you read my mind? Please. I just…" she sobbed again "...there are no words!" she cried, once again burying her face in his robes to stifle the awful noises involuntarily making themselves audible.

He stiffly stroked her hair, hoping to get her to look up at him, which she obliged.

He looked into the lead-grey depths of her irises, now surrounded in a sea of pink, and spoke.

"I don't mind, if you don't mind."

She nodded her head and delved into the black vortex of his gaze.

She first showed him what she had been thinking when she started her glamour work on him. The sheer amount of anxiety mingled with despair permeating every thought caused his skin to cool, and his palms to sweat. Her incoherence and dissociation started to make sense of her earlier behavior towards him.

She illustrated in detail the longing to actually dispose of the many pains in his countenance, instead of merely hiding them under illusions, as she replayed for him their earlier encounter.

You are perfect! Screamed her mind, penetrating every thought and giving her a limited capacity to focus.

Snape was taken aback by this. He knew the girl she once was held a desire for him that was not reciprocated, but he never would have surmised the depths of her affection, or her genuine longing to ease his suffering. Steadying himself, he pressed forward carefully.

She played back the morbid illustration of her administering the Felix Felicis to her dying mother, drop by drop, until the day her luck permanently ran dry. His heart broke at the sight of her lying alone in an empty field, past the point of all hope that his owl would return. He felt the heaviness of her heart as she held all of her sorrows inside, not wishing to burden those in her life who might lend her sympathy or aid.

At this final portrayal, he held her tightly against his chest as he withdrew from her mind, allowing her time to breath deeply, soothing herself in the scent of his garments.

It was at this point Rianne began the slow descent into her senses. In her imaginings, he never felt so warm. His smell was not one of potions and herbs as she often conjured, but fresh cotton, and warm bread, and… home. This was real. The real Severus Snape was here, and not some formulation of her mind. He was here holding her close as he viewed her immensely broken mind. She was drowning his robes while he was soothing her aching soul as she so desperately wanted to soothe his. The irony left a coppery taste in her mouth.

As much as she craved to stay in his embrace for as long as he would allow, her realization slowed her tears to a trickle, and she reluctantly pried herself from his arms.

"Professor…" she began, not sure where she was going with the sentiment. She certainly would never apologize for having cried upon him. She was a human being, and thus would force herself to not express sympathy for those having witnessed the presentation of her human emotions. "I do believe our thirty minutes have come to a conclusion." She said, wiping her remaining tears on her sleeve. "I hate to impose; however, if you have a spot of tea, I could use one." she steadfastly lifted her chin, and dared not betray the slightest hint of shame at having just asked for a common courtesy. She went on to explain "The apparition is… draining… and I'm not sure if I will make it home as tired as I'm feeling without it."

He nodded his head and bid her to follow. She did, having a seat on his sofa as he billowed into the kitchen to prepare her tea, and locate a vial of Pepper Up to send with her for her journey.

By the time he returned, sleep had overtaken her. He transfigured his old couch into a luxurious mattress with a few plump pillows, and tucked his own deep green comforter around her, wishing her a full night's rest.


	9. Stability

A/N: Dedicated to SlytherClaw Black and Devon A. Snow. Y'all are my witches.

This is a silly, fluffy bit with our two favorite elves as Rianne gets set up for her new life.

All praises as always to Acantha Rayne Oak-Moon, Editor Extraordinaire and High Priestess of Chaos.

Enjoy!

Vine

Rianne awoke to the smell of vanilla and maple syrup beckoning her to arise and indulge.

She cast 'tempus' to check the time and let out a muttered curse as she realized she had slept for well over twelve hours and it was now 9:30 AM. Assuming she had grievously overstayed her welcome, she cast a silent 'point me' spell to find the nearest lavatory to freshen up so she could be on her way.

The 'point me' led her down a short, narrow hallway paneled with dark wood, arriving at a non assuming doorway tucked off to the left. She opened the door, and a startled "Eep!" made her jump back through the threshold.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize it was occupied…" she began to apologize.

A tiny elf in a doll-like white dress popped up close to the built-in marble tub.

"No Miss, Snow was only cleaning. Master does not often have visitors. Snow was only startled."

The elf curiously appraised the new occupant with a tilt of her head.

"Would Miss like Snow to run Miss a bath?"

A bath did sound nice. Rianne hadn't had the chance to relax in a proper tub with running water for quite some time, much less gorge on the luxury of scented soap. She was afraid she may fall asleep again and it wouldn't do to make herself comfortable after her less than flattering performance last night.

"Perhaps a hot shower? That would be delightful. Thank you." she asked instead.

"Miss is most welcome." replied the elf, kindly.

The elf charmed the shower to run before scampering off to give the woman her privacy and soon steam filled the bathroom as Rianne began her daily ablutions. She noted an oddity as she loosened her hair free; there was no mirror above the sink or anywhere else in the room for that matter. She brushed it off as just an eccentricity of either her host or the house itself she prepared for the sacred experience of luxuriating in hot, running water. She found a soft cotton washcloth along with a bar of soap that had been placed on the ledge of the opaque window, facing out of the shower. As she mused to herself about the nice lighting, she used the cloth to work the soap into a rich, foamy lather. She inhaled deeply as the froth released it's scent and her mouth immediately started watering. Though there were base notes of something herbal, the top note was definitely lemons. Not the usual lemon scent for bathrooms either but as if she had just squeezed fresh lemon juice directly into her hands. It was wonderful and she suspected, home-made.

Deliberately making haste to ensure her shower was as expeditiously non-indulgent of her host's time and hospitality as possible, she quickly lathered and rinsed, taking one luxurious turn in the hot water before cancelling the spell. She stepped out to dry and dress herself, taking a rapturous inhale of the clean towel before folding it neatly atop the drying rack.

Once clothed, she cast a quick glamour to illuminate her cheeks and lips, just enough to make her look less like death-warmed-up; although the vacant depths that passed for her eyes could not be illusioned in such a way. Her hollow heart would need a different magic altogether if it were to ever be beautiful again, she supposed.

She opened the door just in time to bump into the same amiable elf, who squeaked at the collision and landed with a quiet thud on her bum, her large-eyed, bat-eared face buried in the fluffy white towel she held in both arms.

"Oh my! I do apologize! We mustn't keep running into each other this way! It was Snow, wasn't it?" Rianne said with a little smile on her face, reaching out a hand to help the elf back to her feet; the elf took the proffered help graciously and pulled herself up with a matching smile.

"Yes Miss! You are finished already?" the elf squeaked with a comical amount of surprise. "Oh dear. Snow was bringing you a hot towel." She remarked snuggling her nose into the warm, fluffy fabric now tucked safely against her chest. "Snow thinks you would stay longer in the water."

Rianne inwardly cringed and outwardly winced a bit as she thought of how her body must have smelled on her arrival; having lived outdoors, taking scorgefies and cauldron baths for so long was not conducive to an attractive personal scent. The creature below looked at her with such pity in her oversized eyes, she decided not to be embarrassed about her former state, as she had now done all she could to rectify it and assumed she smelled lemon-fresh.

"Miss is very pretty." commented the elf over the towel. "Miss will teach Snow the magic of changing lips another color?" she asked, puckering her lips into the most adorable pout whilst flapping her ears in anticipation.

"Of course." Replied Rianne with a soft smile, bending down to be at eye-level with the elf. She reached into her bag to pull out a small tube of Muggle lipstick she had charmed to change colors. Briefly considering what color would look best on greyish-green skin, she flicked the tube to change it to a light lavender.

"First," she began, "you must relax your mouth."

The elf tried several facial configurations before finally ending on one she felt was relaxed, mouth draped open with eyes shut.

"Very good. I'm just going to rub this across your lips now." She held the elf's face gently as she did as intended, giving a nice lavender blush to her lips.

She offered the elf the option to open her eyes, while rubbing the lavender lipstick in circles across the back of her own hand to make a cream.

"This," she pointed to the back of her hand with the open lipstick tube "is for your cheeks." She dipped her middle finger in the purple cream and gently rubbed it across the elf's cheekbones. "All done." she stated with a grin.

The elf snapped her fingers and a small mirror appeared.

"Fabulous!" she squeaked.

At that the witch blushed, and offered her the lipstick tube.

"You can keep it, if you like. Practice makes perfect." she winked to the elf.

...and house elves make valuable allies. She thought to herself.

"Miss is so nice to Snow!" she reached up to kiss a tiny purple peck on the woman's cheek.

Touched, she returned the kindness by giving the elf a miniaturized hug, then followed the waning smell of vanilla into the kitchen to bid farewell to her all too generous host.

She found him sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper, a giant stack of pancakes drenched in maple syrup sitting at the empty place across from him and a mug of steaming coffee beside it.

"You're awake" he observed, not looking up from his paper. "I was becoming fearful I would have to defend you against having your head bitten off by a house elf if you failed to awaken and take your breakfast."

She looked down at the enormous portion of pancakes and full mug of coffee, belatedly realizing they were meant for her and that she had been effectively invited to stay for breakfast.

She pulled out the chair and had a seat as Snape folded his paper and took a sip from his own mug.

"Oh I met your house elf, Professor. I didn't take her as the type to bite."

"You must have met Snow. Claw will be much less forgiving if you insult her cooking by leaving your plate untouched. She does so thrive on the tears of the innocent."

"Ah." Claw sounded menacing enough. She raised her fork and assured herself this would be a good excuse to have her fill for the day.

Snape sat his paper aside to appraise the woman in front of him.

"I see you cut off all of your hair Ms. Felthorne."

Rianne raised her hand to touch where the bronze fuzz was glittering in the morning sun. Her usual glamour fell away as she showered, and she was now distinctly aware of how exposed her scalp was as she swallowed down her first delicious bite to explain.

"I did." she started, in a voice she hoped was full of conviction. "There was a passing Muggle hair dealer in London who was all too eager to procure it. It gained me fifty galleons last month." Fifty galleons that were nearly gone. A lifetime of growing hair sold for one month's worth of food. She was still scandalized by how awful the return had been for her time.

"Did you flinch?" Snape asked with only a hint of his usual biting wit. "Or did you care?"

"I didn't, in fact." she took a swig of her coffee, a bit too hot, as it scorched her throat going down. She didn't let the pain show. "I find it quite freeing." she said, running her hand again against the soft, twinkling fuzz.

"If it's so… freeing, as you say," Snape began his inquiry, arching a once again dark brow. "what was the purpose of glamouring it for our meeting yesterday? I'd hope you weren't caging yourself on my account."

Because I would be ashamed for you to see how desperate I really am. Because your scathing remarks would shatter me into dust. Because I don't want to look like a prepubescent boy in front of you.

"Because I wanted to." she lied, weakly.

"Mm." was his only reply.

She ate in silence for what felt like an age and a half, devouring the large stack of pancakes like it would be her last meal. Severus, who had finished eating before she got up, she assumed, sat quietly, patiently keeping her company and giving her the moment to enjoy the delectable meal.

He finally spoke, slowly and without a trace of his usual arrogance.

"In regards to last night Ms. Felthorne…"

She nearly choked on her coffee in an attempt to interrupt him.

"Yes, well," cough "I truly apologize for falling asleep on your couch, Sir." She wiped her mouth hastily "It was most hospitable of you to allow me to stay and might I compliment your excellent transfiguration skills? That bed you created provided possibly the most comfortable night's sleep I've had in my life! I am truly embarrassed to have not awakened sooner but the sleep was more needed than I care to admit and rather… incredible."

"Rianne..." he interjected. She froze at the use of her given name, blood running cold as her brain melted into a sticky puddle of wax. "As you so prudently shared your thoughts with me yesterday evening, I know you have nowhere to return to."

She nodded, face hot as she ashamedly studied the air pockets of her pancakes slowly filling with syrup.

"If you are pleased with the idea, I should offer you to stay here at least until we meet with Narcissa. After we know when your pay will begin, we can reassess the situation."

We. As in Rianne and Snape. Working together on problems she was absolutely certain belonged to her alone. She suddenly felt light headed. She stared ahead stupidly as she attempted to force her collapsed brain to form an appropriate response. All she could grasp was the first thing her Slytherin tendencies offered her.

"And what would you like in return for your generosity, sir?"

Wrong answer. She knew it by the brief look of hurt that crossed his face before he became an unreadable enigma again. He stood up to stare out the kitchen window, suddenly keenly interested in whatever lay on the other side.

"I lack for nothing." was his measured reply. "You will owe me nothing."

Although her mind could not process his statement as fact on the best of days, she assumed the professor meant her no legitimate harm. If he did, what harm was worse than the life she had been living before she arrived at his door? If worse came to worst, she could pack up and leave and return right back to her own personal version of hell no worse for wear. So she nodded and offered thanks as he summoned his elves to the kitchen.

In addition to Snow, there was another elf wearing a swinging yellow sundress, and fanning herself with a golden fan as if the atmosphere of the kitchen were somehow stifling.

"Master called?" they said in unison, the yellow clad one having an accent that sounded suspiciously like she was from one of the southern states of America.

Rianne scrunched her forehead in a look of confusion towards Snape.

"She's an import." he rolled his eyes and sighed, bringing his attention back to the elves.

"Snow!" he said loudly, suddenly startled. "What in Merlin's name happened to your lips?!" He immediately felt for a temperature on the elf. She swatted his hand away and folded her arms across her puffed out chest.

"Snow is fine Master!" she huffed and gave him a look of smug condescension "Miss magiced them for me." she gave a triumphant smirk as she batted her lashes "Isn't they pretty?"

Snape penned an evil glare on Rianne, meaning for her to explain herself.

"I gave her some lipstick and rouge. And it looks lovely." She intoned with indignance, gaining her a nod of appreciation from Snow.

Severus sighed while pinching his nose, as the other elf, the American one in the yellow dress spoke up.

"Why, Miss!" she began, in what Rianne was sure now was a very American, very Southern accent. "Miss has barely touched her pancakes!"

Rianne glanced at the exactly 2.5 bites of pancake left on her plate and back to the elf as the elf continued.

"Claw did not cook breakfast for it to waste on Miss's plate!" she stomped her tiny foot as she levitated the plate over to Rianne along with her fork and serviette. "Miss is a right skinny thang." the elf remarked, shaking her head, tiny fist balled up on her hip. "Eat up darlin'! It's good for Miss's soul!"

Rianne struggled not to choke on her last two bites of pancake as she stifled a laugh, nodding appreciatively at the odd way the elf was mothering her.

"Claw, Snow," Severus interrupted, addressing his house staff "if you will, please prepare a quarters for Ms. Felthorne. She will be our guest for some time."

"WHOO!" hollered Claw, vanishing the used dishes while dancing around in a circle, chanting "Claw's going shoooopping! Claw's going shooooopping!" As Snow popped out of existence to tend to the new accommodations.

After the reverie was over and Snape looked to be at the peak of exasperation, Claw turned to Rianne to ask a final question:

"Would Miss like black bedding, or dark grey?"

Cheeky as always, Rianne quickly returned with a feigned look of shock

"Haven't you any blush pink?"

The elf doubled over in laughter at this remark. Wiping a tear away from her eye as she caught her breath, the vivacious creature walked up to Rianne to give her a look of mock pity.

"Bless your heart, darlin'." The creature said, patting Rianne's hand with her warm, thin fingers. "Master, Claw does not think the lights is all on in this one, but Miss is right funny."

The elf popped out of existence and Rianne gave a puzzled look to her new housemate.

"I have the distinct impression I should be offended for some odd reason."

"Your impression is quite correct Ms. Felthorne."

A/N: That was fun. For the record, Claw only thrives on happy tears. If you don't believe me, you obviously haven't read her work, and should go do that now.

Snow is just lovely, and I think her loveliness comes across quite well here.

Let me know what you think!

House points if you can find the hidden lyrics, because songs just pop into my head and out onto the page.

All the sweet pancakes and elf hugs for you,

X Vine out


	10. Cotton

**A/N: And finally we are at the plot! There's a big time jump here, so hold on to your pointy hats!**

**Thanks as always to my beautiful beta Acantha Rayne Oak-Moon, who somehow herds all of us snakes and keeps us motivated to write. She updated her wonderful Sevmione "Are You Okay?" today, and in case you haven't read it yet, I would highly recommend you check it out. **

**Also, a huge thanks to my Coven for keeping me in smiles and sprinkles. Claw, Snow, Dash, Nyxx, Jinx, and Diva - y'all make life so much more fun.**

**For everyone still reading this and entertaining my overactive imagination, thank you from the bottom of my sparkly heart. **

**Vine**

...

_2007_

Narcissa Malfoy did not own yoga pants. Although common in modern times, Narcissa Malfoy did not own anything made from cotton, or many other plants for that matter. She owned coats made from the finest wools, from magical and non-magical sources. She had the most supple leather from the very rare Peruvian Vipertooth and Antipodean Opaleye. Her sheets were a secret concoction Lucius invented himself; commissioned from an Egyptian wizarding tailor and sewn especially for her. Each set smelled softly of a different flower Narcissa was particularly fond of - lilacs, gardenias, pink roses and lavender. Her favorite set was light violet in color with the scent of daffodils. By far, the most common fabric she owned was silk. She adored the gentle feeling of it on her skin; the way it made dresses flow gracefully when she walked and the way dye appeared more vivid on it than any other fabric. This was especially true after she created her own silk-making potion, which made the fibers stronger and negated the need to harvest silkworms. She felt a strong sentiment for the poor creatures; in her mind, nothing so helpless deserved to be boiled to death.

Cotton was a different story. She never even considered it until Dr. Roberta Granger showed up at her door with a horrid Muggle suit. Roberta went on for fifteen solid minutes about how this was the highest quality outfit she could find for such an occasion. The fibers and dyes were grown from the ancient magic of the Earth, using no Muggle chemicals, Narcissa was informed. The people who made the clothing (without magic, absurdly) were paid well and lived decent lives, which wasn't always the case for Muggles apparently.

"This will cast you in the best possible light Narcissa. You can always make some alterations so it fits to your liking, just remember it's supposed to fit loosely, like the pictures we looked at last time." Dr Granger reminded her business partner.

Narcissa's Occulmency shields were habitually up; her mask on in full force. She ran her hands over the fabric, smiling sweetly, graciously even as she replied.

"I appreciate the trouble you must have gone to in procuring this, Dr. Granger. I am sincerely grateful for the consideration and discernment you used in choosing these garments for our appearance. I'm sure it will aid us in effectively communicating our intentions this weekend."

Roberta narrowed her eyes slightly, barely concealing her annoyance at Narcissa's continually guarded exterior.

"It will. I assure you." Came her calm voice, as she reached out, holding Narcissa's hand in her own. "Also, I appreciate your formality Narcissa, I really do but it makes me feel rather uncomfortable. Please, for the last time, call me Bertie, or at least Roberta. Dr. Granger is reserved for my patients and people I don't care to know well." Dr. Roberta "Bertie" Granger had a bit of a frustrated tinge to her voice, but only so slightly. The look of compassion on her face greatly softened the gentle reprimand she was giving to one of the most influential witches in the world. Looking directly into those pale blue eyes would be a feat of accomplishment for most high-born wizards. Roberta however, accomplished it with ease as she continued: "I care about the work we are doing, and I care about you. We are planning to be around each other frequently for the foreseeable future, so we might as well treat each other accordingly." She smiled and let go of Narcissa's hand. Narcissa smiled as well, and feigned a blush as she started to speak.

"My apologies, it's a habit that tends to slip my mind" she lied.

In truth, very little slipped her mind aside from time and dates, which she had been made keenly aware of in her new, public role. Roberta eyed her in anticipation, sipping her tea and waiting for confirmation of Narcissa's intent.

'_This woman would make for a fine Slytherin',_ noted Narcissa, not for the first time. She broke the silence, running her fingers along the seams of the shirt, '_my shirt now'_, she reminded herself.

"It's quite fascinating really," she said sincerely "I must research how Muggles turn these cotton plants into clothing without magic. I assume it must be similar to Muggle wool spinning?" She did intend to research it further. Once she found out Muggles had spun wool for centuries without magic, she made a special order at Flourish and Blotts for several books about the process.

"Somewhat." Dr. Granger responded. "Cotton bolls are similar to tiny bundles of wool. But I'm sure you will learn all about it." Roberta gave a smirk at the last sentence and shared a knowing laugh with Narcissa. One thing these women had in common was an insatiable search for knowledge; it was the reason they were here after all.

"Ah, I will be relieved of so many worries when I can just use your computer, Roberta. Any computer would make my research so much more efficient."

"And when I can use your wand, Narcissa, we will use your magnificent research to feed the hungry, heal all sick, and to rid the world of its many horrors."

"The final enemy is death." Narcissa repeated the mantra that kept her pressing forward on her seemingly insurmountable task.

"The final one" Roberta replied solemnly.

The women sat in silence for a heartbeat, respecting their work and accomplishments yet to be birthed from their endeavors.

"Well Narcissa, it's getting late. Do say hello to Lucius and the kids for me."

"Absolutely. Give my regards to Dr. Granger as well." Narcissa replied as the pair politely stood up to bid their farewells. "Before you go, I told Hermione I would rave about her lemon cookies to you. She said it was your recipe and she knows they are my weakness. They were exquisite."

"Thank you." Roberta beamed. "She is quite the baker".

"Quite" Narcissa stated as she wrapped her left arm around Roberta's waist, as the former was significantly taller and blew a kiss beside her cheek. "Until we meet again, Bertie."

"Until next Saturday. At 2:00pm. Class starts at 2:00pm." Roberta replied over the rim of her glasses.

"Next Saturday at 2:00pm." Narcissa mimicked, smiling.

'_Perhaps a Slyther-puff, this woman._ _Always subtly reminding me where to be and when.' _Narcissa mused. '_Such a cunning, and kind gesture._'

Bertie turned around as the door was shutting

"You know, actually..." came her departing voice from beyond the threshold. The door's magic pulled the entrance open again at Narcissa's bidding.

"Yes?..."

"I would rather prefer a wand of my own."

"It will be made of the finest wood and heart string dear."

The door closed on a successful evening for Narcissa.

...

**A/N: "Sipping tea" is an American expression from the black LGBTQ community which means "knowing truth" and is commonly used to refer to hearing or sharing gossip, or finding out the truth by sneaky means, as Dr. Granger does here. I thought it was a fun insert since our friends across the pond literally sip actual tea. (coffee for Cissy and me please. coffeecoffeecoffee!)**

**If you guessed Lucius had some Egyptian cotton specially charmed to make the sheets, you would be absolutely correct you sneaky Slytherin! Even Narcissa didn't know! Thanks for reading!**


	11. Muggle Stretching Programme

A/N: Here comes the main point of the story. It gets a bit nerdy and dialogue heavy, which are two of my favorite things, but may bore you to sleep. All my Ravenclaws and SlytherClaws, this may just be your cup of tea. I'm curious to know which camp you sit in, so do please tell me in the reviews.

Shout out to Mercurial Weather, who has an amazing science-based Albus x Gellert story "Quintessence" up on her page right now. Her Grindy is my favorite to date, and her exploration of all things magic and science just makes my Ravenclaw side giddy.

Also a huge thanks to the author who coined "Muggle Stretching Programme" as a term for yoga. If you know who it is, please leave their name in the reviews so I can personally thank them.

As always, all the love to my Coven. Check them out on the Priestesses of H.I.S.S. page here on FF.

On with the nerd sprinkles!

Vine

Narcissa, Lucius, and Dr. Granger sat in a triangular arrangement of chairs in one of the renovated conference rooms of Malfoy Manor. The time was upon them to embark on the first step Narcissa's long awaited plot. This would be the last discussion to be had on the matter before her plan was set in motion.

"Dr. Granger, will you please explain the purpose of this activity, for Muggles?" Lucius began the meeting of minds. He didn't generally interfere with Narcissa's endeavors in Muggle science, but he was more than willing to attend this briefing of her pet project at her request. She wanted an opinion she could trust, she told him, and who better to provide a diverging perspective than the Ever Present Skeptic, formerly known as Lord Lucius of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy?

"Lord Malfoy" Roberta began. (Although he was no longer a Lord in legal standing, he was still often referred to as such by individuals trying to gain his good graces, and in his vain pride he would never offer a correction.) "Muggles in many parts of the world use this activity for spiritual practice, however that is not the case for the studio we will attend today. In Western Muggle cultures, it's mainly used as a form of exercise."

Lucius immediately retorted in a matter of fact tone:

"So far as I know, Dr. Granger, magical humans are not in need of exercise. Many of us live 200 years without any strenuous activities. I also doubt many would be persuaded to take up a new spiritual practice, especially since the existence of our very souls is up for debate in current times." He said the last few words with a bit of acid in his voice. He still wasn't sure how animagus transformations worked, or werewolf transformations for that matter, but he was sure something had to remain constant, and for now he was calling the constant a soul.

"I agree with you somewhat Lord Malfoy." Dr. Granger continued "Cardiovascular and muscular exercise are of little use in the magical world. Magical DNA preserves the physical body quite well. The aspect of exercise your wife is interested in studying is the exercise of the brain and central nervous system, which hasn't been extensively studied in magical humans. We do know David Monroe was an avid practitioner, who rivaled Voldemort in his magical prowess, but one strong wizard is hardly enough to draw conclusions upon. It has, however, been studied extensively in Muggle populations, showing a plethora of positive benefits for the brain as well as the body."

"How do you know using Muggle programmes will work for our brains if they are of little use to the rest of our bodies?" demanded the former Lord Malfoy.

"We don't know, Lucius." came Narcissa's calm voice, interjecting after moments of careful listening. "This is why we need a test group."

Lucius was following now. Having Narcissa Malfoy do anything in public meant spawning a horde of imitators. It's why every pureblood witch worth her salt owned yellow dragonskin flats, and why Sleakeasy's Potion for Blondes wouldn't stay on the shelf, despite Narcissa only using Lucius's secret design to control her wild Black-family curls. The plan was brilliant, and brooked no argument from the brooding Skeptic.

Dr. Granger continued her diatribe.

"Part of the allure of this exercise Lord Malfoy, in Muggles at least, is the ability to regulate nervous system responses. With continued practice, these altered responses help to improve one's disposition, and aide preservation of the physical body." Roberta took another sip of her tea while Lucius absorbed the implications with a nod.

"In a magical body," Narcissa picked up the end of Roberta's statement "one would hope the effect would be more pronounced. That's the premise we will test with this experiment."

Narcissa hoped to whatever powers at work in the world she would have at least some immediate results to show from this experiment. Many of the Muggle studies of this nature had taken decades, and lifetimes, to be conclusive. Even if the length of time was cut in half on the more responsive magical humans, it was still a long time to wait. Waiting patiently was never her strong suit, and time was certainly the most precious commodity in the current state of humanity. Perhaps she would get lucky and one or two of the most fervent participants would develop stronger magical cores quickly, she mused, and she would be able to study the changes they affected. If she was very unlucky, perhaps those strengthened individuals would have little self restraint. Worse still, there may be no noticeable effects at all.

She felt an unnerving empathy for the legions of Muggles using this method in an attempt to access an energy they weren't sure existed. In her mind, they sat with their eyes closed, breathing in slowly, hoping against hope to control their destinies by some ancient power.

'_Some kind of power. Any kind of power…' _she mused. She only wanted to wield some form of _true _control over her circumstances.

The only thoughts soothing her thin-worn optimism were the Muggle studies proving the ends, if not the means of this endeavor. There were definitely results showing what Dr. Granger referenced - better relationships, stronger bodies, longer lives. Longer, _better quality_ lives, less plagued by physical pain and mental fatigue. She would sit on the floor and quite literally bend over backwards for a chance at that fate. If she could coax more of the causes from the results, perhaps she could reproduce them at will. Perchance she and Lucius could be the next Flamels, living 700 years together in comfort and ease. If the Fates were on her side, maybe she would have the opportunity to see generations of Malfoys growing wiser and more cunning. Most importantly, she would never feel the sting of a permanent Avada, or a slow, painful illness ever again.

Roberta interrupted Narcissa's contemplations.

"As we discussed earlier, Narcissa, there is a certain Muggleborn researcher in attendance you are definitely going to want to speak with. Her research with using electronics around magic is quite compelling, if not public knowledge."

"I will ensure I have a moment to speak with Dr. Brown and extend my praises." Narcissa commented, turning to her husband. "Lucius, the press?"

"Taken care of, my darling." Lucius flippantly explained with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Every Wizarding magazine is snooping information for Muggle fashion week in London today, and have cleverly been tipped off that the Narcissa Malfoy will be in the city. We will also most likely have our... _friend _Lovegood in attendance, as she has been informed of a 'strange energy' in the area."

"Most excellent my love. Thank you." Narcissa beamed at the stroke of her husband's prowess. "I suppose we should be going soon."

"Quite." Roberta confirmed. "If we apparate now, we should find ourselves a seat in front, to expose you more to the press than the lower bodies of the practitioners."

Narcissa and Lucius both cringed inwardly at the prospect. With a pop, the two women set Narcissa's long awaited scheme in motion.

***xxoOoxx***

Narcissa Malfoy had never worn a ponytail. Not in her adult life, at any rate. Elaborate updos on occasion? Of course. Only for the aesthetic effect of showing off her delicate bone structure & to hold any variety of flowers, butterflies, and other enchanted wearables. She had no _need _to restrain her hair since Lucius shared his special hair charms with her at age 16. She was ever thankful her vanity-driven teenaged self sucked up her pride to ask him how he kept his hair so pristine. The risk was certainly well-worth the reward.

It had been one of the best decisions of her life, come to think of it. Since then, no one immediately associated Narcissa with her… less than pleasant… older sister because of their shared appearance. She grew tired of being told as a child she looked _similar _to Bella, only _thinner_, and _more fair-skinned _(read: _skinny _and _sickly)._

Alas, today, not only was she wearing a ponytail, but one bound in one of those strange Muggle stretchy contraptions Roberta called an "elastic". It would certainly put a wrinkle in her otherwise beautiful flowing waves, she was positive.

"You don't want to draw any unnecessary attention," Roberta's voice insisted in Narcissa's conscience. "...and if your hair stays completely perfect during the exercise, or you come in with it wrapped in a leather tie or some charmed ribbon, you certainly will."

Why did it have to be commonplace for Roberta to ruin her fun, while also being correct? It annoyed Narcissa to no end.

The women arrived early in their horrid Muggle, er.. _yoga _clothing, and rolled out their soft foam mats around the eastern edge of the room. The participants were to form a semi-circle facing the instructor, who was set up on a small platform with his back to the far wall. Directly across from him was a panel of windows spanning ceiling to the floor; perfect for the reporters to get their hero shots of Narcissa Malfoy interacting with common Muggles, not least of whom was the Girl-Who-Revived's dear mother.

This was a particularly genius plot on the part of Dr. Roberta Granger and the former Lady of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy - especially given the gift of insider information they recently received.

To say procuring said information was a pain would be a blatant understatement. It was a tedious process, and a journey. Specifically a _journey _to Sweden, which Narcissa sent Hermione on after the _tedious process_ of sending multiple owls and donations to the Muggleborn Dr. Quanita Brown to no avail.

Dr. Brown had been studying the interactions between electricity and magic covertly for the past decade, and was one of the few researchers in the world willing to do so. Apparently, she was so consumed in her - admittingly important - activities she had no time to communicate with those supporting her work.

With Muggle Studies being only a newly acceptable profession, there were practically no respected publications on the subject. Only after delving fruitlessly into the library at the Dyrbar Liv Wizarding University, where Dr. Brown was currently housed as a researcher, did Hermione happen to run into a professor in the lift who was acquainted with Dr. Brown, and was more than eager to procure a copy of all of her current research findings for Hermione.

At hearing the British witch's accent, the benevolent professor also offered the seemingly innocuous detail that Dr. Brown liked to visit a particular yoga studio every time she was home in London on holiday. A holiday she needed, and would just so happen to be taking soon.

Having studied Muggle brain science extensively while trying to find a cure for Bellatrix, Narcissa was somewhat familiar with the concepts of yoga and meditation. After a luncheon with Hermione had revealed her mother was an avid practitioner, Narcissa's plan was concrete.

It was only a sweet serendipitous realization she could feed two dogs with one bone by meeting up with the foremost authority on electricity and magic on this particular occasion.

"Namaste, everyone." Came a high, nasally male voice from the front of the room. "We will begin by connecting with the breath. If you will all take a deep inhale…"

Narcissa turned her eyes to the left as she felt a nudge in her ribcage from Dr. Granger. Roberta lifted her chin and tilted her eyes in the direction of the witch who was assumedly Dr. Brown. Narcissa nodded once to assure her she understood, and closed her eyes as the meditation began.

The physical aspect of the class wasn't particularly challenging for Narcissa. She followed along easily as she ebbed and flowed with the instructors suggestions to inhale and exhale in time with her movements. She felt her heart rate decrease and a general sense of calm take over her mind and body. By the end of the session, she felt at ease and clear headed, but definitely could not detect an increase in her magical core.

_It just takes time._ She reminded herself. _My first task is accomplished. Onward to today's next conquest._

After the participants all joined their hands at their chests and bowed, Narcissa leisurely stood and rolled up her sitting mat, politely nodding to the disillusioned reporters she was sure were still gawking at the window. In doing so, she made eye contact with a short, stocky, entirely unassuming woman in the far corner near the instructor's platform. She had golden brown skin, with deep chocolate eyes, and a head full of untamed curls which seem to live an unabashed life of their own.

"Dr. Brown!" Narcissa chimed as she made her way across the room to the now scowling witch. "So delightful to have met you here!" She beamed through a genuine smile. Not wanting to assume she would be recognized, she offered her hand and stated "Narcissa Malfoy."

The other witch pumped her hand strongly, and replied blatantly

"Well you seem to already know who I am. Charmed, I'm sure."

"Yes, I'm quite a fan of your work." the blonde intoned "In fact, I recently had the pleasure of reading all of your recent papers to date. Quite hard to get a hold of, those." Narcissa ended with a cheeky grin, hoping the other woman would pick up on her implication.

"Read all of my papers have you? You're quite the persistent one it seems." Dr. Brown replied with an air of not wanting to be bothered, mixed with a hint of sarcasm.

"Persistent indeed. After my _missives _were returned with no response, I assumed you were exceptionally busy with important discoveries, and decided I must procure your research by other means."

Abandoning all sense of modesty or discretion, the researcher replied nonchalantly

"Ah yes, I no longer receive owls. Too many death threats. My assistant has too much work to do to sort through them all to find letters worth responding to."

Narcissa cast a wandless _Muffilatio _should any nearby Muggles have prying ears, and tucked this information away for later. She could easily see why people in fear of change would resort to hate-mailing a witch who was essentially working to fuse Muggle technology with Magical society.

"Well I'm terribly sorry to hear that. It's a shame our world resists improvements so, is it not?"

Narcissa waited for a response, but none were forthcoming, save an incredulous glare from the researcher who obviously felt she had better places to be.

Narcissa leaned in conspiratorially, placing a hand on the doctor's shoulder. "But all good things come to those who wait, I suppose. And it certainly _was _worth the wait."

Once the doctor was finished ogling Narcissa's hand on her shoulder and returned her creasing gaze to her face, Narcissa took a step back and continued.

"I must say, I have never learned so much about… bioelectricity in one setting. Your research is quite enlightening. In fact, my foundation has recently made a few generous donations to your cause in order to ensure the continuity of such fascinating discoveries."

The disdainful doctor actually snorted at this remark, and mockingly drew her hand to her chest in feigned modesty.

"Well, Mrs. _Malfoy_," her pitch increased an octave. "I am _honored _that you think so _highly _about my pursuits!" She dropped her hand from her chest to land immodestly on her hip. "And what would you like in exchange for your most _generous _contributions, hmm? Early access to the first Wizarding television? Perhaps an electronic racing broom for a loved one?" The doctor leaned on Narcissa's shoulder in a mockery of her earlier posture, lowering her voice in a scheming whisper "I have nothing to do with the finances, by the way, but I'm sure I could direct you to the University Grant Handler's office, who may put your name in the ears of the right people." She creased her brow again and nodded in false reassurance, as if she had no fantastic notions of the university obliging any such request.

_Acidic peafowl! _Narcissa internally scowled. _If only she knew how misbehaving hens are served for dinner in my home! _She smiled genuinely at the idea, and let her happy thoughts carry her forward into a tinkling laugh.

"Oh Dr. Brown!" she exclaimed through a blinding smile "I'm flattered you believe me to be so modest!" her forced smile dropped instantaneously, her voice lowered as she pressed forward to educate her assuming companion.

"I'm not sure how much you know about the current political climate in Britain…"

"Absolutely nothing" Dr. Brown interrupted matter-of-factly.

Narcissa continued unperturbed -

"...but our current Minister is consumed with finding a cure for death…"

"Hmph." came the indignant noise from the doctor, clearly indicating she was skeptical of the proposition.

"... and as the head of the Malfoy Foundation," Narcissa raised her voice ever so slightly "I intend to lend my own research for the matter, as a public service to the good of Wizard kind."

Narcissa's irritation was beginning to become palpable as she controlled the silence, waiting for a response.

"Well, as you know from reading all of my _unpublished _papers Mrs. Malfoy, I dabble in nothing of the sort, so I fail to see where our common interests lie."

Narcissa let her burgeoning anger creep into her voice as she immediately retorted

"I for one, Dr. Brown, would _like _to believe that our common interests lie in understanding the world and curing it's insufficiencies. If I am mistaken however, _my _interests lie in procuring a computer that is usable to me, as my research would be much more efficient if I had access to the Muggle internet." Narcissa's hands were trembling at the sheer audacity and disrespect heaped upon her when she was attempting an intelligent conversation with a person who was supposed to be highly educated.

Dr. Brown looked stunned for a moment. Her countenance turned to one of curiosity as she allowed her teeth to graze over her top lip.

"So what you're saying is, you want a Muggle computer that won't short out or blow up when you touch it, so you'll have access to more information for your research on…" she faltered momentarily "...curing death?"

"Precisely." was Narcissa's prim reply.

The doctor seemed to contemplate the idea for a moment before flippantly beginning her excuses.

"Well I can't exactly forward the information to you, and I have no idea how I would get you what you are requesting without you venturing to my lab in Sweden…"

"Excellent!" Narcissa interjected. "My husband and I own property near Dyrbar Liv, and we are due for a trip soon. What time next week is good for you?"

The woman looked taken aback for a moment. She was wholly unaccustomed to others asking her to share her findings without clear ulterior motives. Having always been an intellectual, she knew objectively she didn't have the intuition or cunning to accurately determine a plot before it bit her in the nose. As she had already dug herself into a hole in this conversation, she risked testing the Malfoy woman's character as she unguardedly replied.

"Friday?.. Yes, Friday. I never work on Fridays, and my personal schedule is clear." gathering her bearings, she continued more hesitantly. "I will forewarn you however, the information shared in my lab is of keen interest, or disinterest, to several governing bodies, and must not be shared outside of Sweden. You will be required to enter into an Unbreakable Vow before we continue with your academic pursuits."

The mention of an Unbreakable Vow caused Narcissa pause. Powerful and dark magic was involved in their creation, and she wasn't sure faster access to her research was ultimately worth the cost. She moved the conversation forward cautiously -

"If such a vow is required, have your team draw up the contents and my barrister will look it over before our arrival to ensure it is a suitable arrangement. If so, we will continue as scheduled."

The women shook hands and exchanged contact information before going their separate ways.

Narcissa found Roberta lounging on a bench in the lobby, waiting for her arrival. The two women walked together to the predetermined point in the fitting rooms and apparated out as Narcissa congratulated herself on a move well played.

A/N: If you want to learn more about the science of meditation, I highly recommend Dr. Daniel Seigel's book "Aware", along with anything written by the current Dalai Lama.

Our main character is not practicing acceptable ethics by garnering her control group without consent. I would never recommend such a practice IRL. Getting Muggles to try yoga is difficult enough, so I must sympathize with her adamancy to get Magicals to try it. It shouldn't hurt to culture them a bit, right Slytherins? Greater good and all that... She will tell them eventually, maybe.

She is also not adequately applying her rationality, deciding on risky bets for science. Love knows no rationality afterall.

Thanks for reading!

Vine


	12. Witch, Heal Thyself

**A/N: The views expressed in this chapter do not necessarily reflect those of the Coven or it's members, save for one possibly over-indulgent fairy and her hoard of dragons.**

**The chapter title for the "magic" our characters will be learning is courtesy of Moon, Muse of Creativity and Mother of Vipers.**

**Warnings: This chapter earns the M rating. Sexual situations (I'll mention a lemon scented something beforehand if you prefer to skip this part), coarse language used sparingly, Pansy being hateful, um... feet? Some people don't like those. As always, PM me for a synopsis if you would prefer.**

**Carry on.**

**Vine**

_2000_

As fate would have it, Narcissa Malfoy had not been in need of the glamourist Severus offered to her, and was honestly more than a touch offended at the suggestion. Nevertheless, this was a man to whom she owed much more than could ever be repaid. Insisting to make something of his offer, she had written the young woman a glowing letter of recommendation, which ultimately landed Rianne in the employ of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Parkinson.

After the passing of the late Lord Parkinson, his only heir - Lady Pansy, had risen graciously through the higher ranks of salvageable society. She crept quietly up the ladder of chaos left in the wake of Voldemort and his minions, swiftly maneuvering around reparations owed to the Ministry by her late father due to his untimely departure.

She had been a shrewd investor of her inheritance, meekly biding her time out of the collective spotlight while paying no mind to the circus of philandering politicians rearranging themselves into new, equally frivolous positions around her. The Lady of Parkinson Manor had no time or patience for such tomfoolery; she had a reality to bring to fruition.

Pansy had always prided herself in uncovering life's simple epiphanies hidden in plain sight. She did love playing Spot the Elf as a child, as well as those Muggle "_Where's Waldo?"_ books she would occasionally guilt her father into buying her on his more nefarious "business trips". She never ceased to be astounded at the sheer amount of complacence exuded by her peers for simple inconveniences easily solved.

Why, for example, should living, breathing, _shitting _owls be the primary form of communication? There were _so _many holes in the logic of it she became red and pulsating at the mere thought. Pansy for one, did not own any such foul messengers, preferring instead to send correspondence via her elves, who conveniently were required to swear _blood loyalty_ to her house, could apparate nearly _anywhere _with their unmatched elvin magic, and most importantly did not _smell _like wild animals.

Pity the rest of society couldn't come to her ways of thought.

Take Wizarding Fashion, which happened to be somewhat Pansy's forte in life:

Point One - Why did robes need to be custom ordered, sewn, and shipped? She hated being poked and prodded while being sized for this outfit and that. Not to mention the unbearable wait times associated with such commissions. (Two weeks for school robes? Two weeks?! It's a solid black throw with a snake on it! That's it! Go in the back room and cast a sewing charm on a piece of silk you lazy ingrate!)

Pansy noticed she sorely needed to gain better control of her temper.

Point Two - Why should she be subjected to degrading glances and snarls when requesting pockets on women's robes? Why did the robe patterns not have pockets to begin with?! Now, not to confuse the reader, Lady Parkinson was, and is, indeed a fan of designer handbags. However, such a parcel is blatantly unsuited to certain… uses. How would one - hypothetically of course - sneak a love potion to the Malfoy heir when said potion was stored in a such a large carryall? It would be preposterous to dig through a purse, or even Accio the vial where all and sundry could clearly see what she was doing! No, no... this type of situation is precisely why several of the tailors and seamstresses at Twilfit and Tattings had been hexed repeatedly. Miss Parkinson always requested inner and outer pockets to be sown into her robes, and gave markedly less than a fraction of a knut if the "experts" maintaining the establishment voiced how "unflattering" said pockets would be to her figure.

The nerve. The absolute audacity some people had in thinking her so vain and inept.

Out of her rage was birthed Park Couture, the wizarding world's first and only off-the-rack fashion house. _Every _style they created had pockets. After this development then, Pansy had been _delighted _to hear from Narcissa Malfoy, bearing a recommendation for a glamourist she described as a "personal favorite" and "immensely talented".

'_Eat your heart out Draco.' _ Lady Parkinson mused while penning a cordial "thank you" to Narcissa and an equally short inquiry to the aforementioned glamourist. '_See if your stupid, mudblood, unicorn... fairy... whatever... BITCH will ever hold a candle to me now.'_

Pansy noted she really should attempt a bit more, or at all, to reign in her petty feelings of animosity towards her former love interest. Perhaps one day she would feel joy at his joy, but for now, she felt nothing past hate and disgust, so she would find herself content to wait for the fabled One Day.

Rianne for her part had never been so excited about the insecurities of another, for these insecurities would ironically bring _her _security in the form of a comfortably steady income. While she thought the Lady of House Parkinson to be perfectly normal in appearance, pretty even when she relaxed her facial muscles of their perpetual tension, the witch herself seemed to loathe her every feature. This was made evident to Rianne on her very first assignment.

Parkinson sat in a black high-backed chair, shoulders back and chin turned almost comically in the air as she gave her first command:

"Make me prettier than Hermione sodding Granger."

Well, that was a loaded statement if Rianne had ever heard one. She knew better than to delve into the metaphorical Pandora's box of that question as she set to work alleviating the witch before her of all of her perceived deficiencies. Merlin's nasty beard did she have plenty of them.

She demanded her cheekbones be higher, her skin darker, her eyes larger, her lips fuller. She wished to be taller, longer limbed, to have bones jut tastefully from her wrists and shoulders.

Rianne worked relentlessly to make her short, straight hair fall in smooth ringlets to her waist. A waist painfully pinched into a foreboding corset which pushed her augmented breasts to the base of her clavicle. The glamourist was all too sure this merciless garment was causing mischief to it's inhabitant's internal organs by the way her chest bounced with short gasps of air. Luckily for her client, Rianne knew a spell or two to disillusion one's fuller features to appear less noticeable, granting the witch the ability to intake more oxygen and possibly consume hors d'oeuvres and champagne without distress.

She charmed her lips a vibrant red, with a smattering of metallic gold for good measure. Her eyes were smoked in black kohl, with the lushest feathery lashes wisping nearly to her cheeks.

The corset and flowing skirt donned by her charge were black as pitch, run through with glimmering threads of crimson and gold which only made their colors known when graced by the light. She held the aura of fire on the verge of ignition; the tobacco smoke flowing freely from her mouth to escape up her nostrils completing the aesthetic most dramatically.

Three hours into their appointment, Rianne cast a cooling charm upon herself to prevent the beads of sweat at her temples from turning into trickling streams down her face. The magical exertion was brutal, taking a heavier toll on her than any of her previous glamouring endeavors. This was _before_ Lady Parkinson mentioned her nose.

For all the world, it sounded as though _Pansy Parkinson's nose_ had caused all of the ill-suffering of the masses for how she described it. Words like "disgusting" and "brutish" were thrown around with "fix it" and "pug face" and "petite, narrow, _aquiline_."

"Make it smaller, turn it downwards, remove the roundness, and holy Circe just change it!" the glamourist had caught through a puff of smoke in the midst of her client's tirade. Rianne had half a mind to ask the witch if she should cut it off entirely and replace it with two slits, but she relented that it would be in poor taste so soon after such a tragedy.

Drawing a ragged and burdened breath, Rianne Felthorne replaced the last distinguishing feature identifying her client as Pansy Parkinson, Lady of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Parkinson, Owner of Park Couture, Prudent Business Woman, and Implementer of Solutions - and turned her into A Witch Who Looked Prettier Than Hermione Granger.

-oxXOXxo-

The first appointment had turned out splendidly for fair Rianne, who returned home panting and heaving to Severus, 500 Galleons richer and holding two exclusive passes to attend Park Couture's inaugural fashion show.

She collapsed on his sofa as he Accioed a vase of cool water for her. Yes, dear reader, a _vase_, because a cup or glass did not seem to him adequate for quenching the burden of her thirst. Rianne downed the drink in one go, only pausing momentarily to gasp a deep breath in between swallows. As her parched throat was soothed, he deigned to notice the ironic duplicity inherent in this woman dropped so ungraciously upon his stoop.

Here she was, physically brittle and mentally battered, yet she worked with the outright tenacity of a pack of hungry wolves. The matted bronze locks she had charmed on for the day were telling of her perseverance; the heaving rise and fall of her breasts evidence of her determination to survive.

The gleaming smile she bestowed upon him while letting five hundred gold coins jingle from a purple velvet satchel to clatter like bells upon his wooden floor - that was all the hope he needed to know this witch was more capable than even he expected of her. Severus Snape was not a man predisposed to feel awe, but in that moment, he couldn't help but feel a certain respect for the brazen witch take root in his mind.

She cast a quick charm to separate the galleons in two equal stacks, duplicating the purple bag as she went. She filled both satchels with the coins, and extended one out to Snape as he looked on in puzzlement. When he realized she was, indeed, offering him half of her earnings, he swallowed his guilt and placed a gentle hand on her own holding the bag to lower it.

"As I have previously informed you," he said through the tightness forming in his throat "You owe me nothing."

The look she answered with in return read confusion with a touch of annoyance; the surface thoughts he couldn't help but scan however shouted disbelief and a pang of hurt. This was a witch who was used to others trying to manipulate her, using her desperation as a means to their foul ends. He conjured a chair to sit across from her in the cozy living room, looking deep in her eyes to attempt to get his message across to his stubborn acquaintance.

He never got the chance to give his righteous rebuttal about how he was only doing what was right in supporting the talent and wellbeing of one of his former students. Instead, he was met with a tart reply as Rianne recanted through her mask of irritation and venom.

"It's the least I can do, truly." She said with what could only be described as the glare of a cat ready to pounce. "I've been staying in your home for over a month, eating your food and using your soap and taking up space in your residence. Surely even you must pay some form of living expenditures."

"I don't." He said calmly, raising one dark eyebrow in a challenge.

She huffed with a roll of her eyes, bowing her head and shaking it as she dropped her elbows to her knees and clasped her hands in between.

"You're incorrigible." she stated simply. She returned her gaze to his eyes. "But I will repay you." She said with determination as she stood to depart.

"Do you listen to a word I say?" he replied in exasperation. "As I have surely mentioned, I want for nothing. The house is paid for, the elves are paid from the interest of the generous reparations I am paid for my part in the war, if you must be so invasive."

"Not invasive," she called from the hallway "I just prefer to be fully informed." She leaned back through the doorway, gracing him with a mischievous smirk. "I'm in desperate need of a shower. Meet me for tea in the attic in 15?" she asked, adding playfully "Unless you'd like to join me of course. I could always use the company."

She winked and swallowed a laugh. The palpable cringe emitted from him at her teasing never ceased to entertain her. She had to admit, the thought of her stoic and secluded roommate deigning to sully himself with a destitute and homely, not to mention _bald _creature such as herself was laughable. Not waiting for his response, she strolled triumphantly to the loo to indulge in some well deserved cleansing.

In truth, Severus would have definitely considered taking her up on the offer had she not entrusted herself to his care. Try as he may, he was still a man beneath all of his billowing acidity, and the infinitesimally small pieces of fabric she traipsed around his home in placed this fact in stark relief for him. In fact, he lay in his bed on many a night, debating with himself over the ethicality of knocking on the door to her quarters to hold her close to his body as she slept. Surely, he couldn't consider himself in impropriety for allowing her the comfort he knew she was seeking, despite her impassive outer shell. He restrained himself, however, not wanting to stoke any lingering flames of desire she might still be in possession of from their past.

He called Claw and Snow to prepare tea for two, making the slow and creaking journey to the attic which had been converted to a comfortable living area. The walls had been charmed to show the weather outside, without actually viewing any passersby. Snape was quite pleased with his tweak on this charm, as it allowed him to be surrounded in the elements without having to leave the comfort of his home to be harrassed by dunderheads. He vanished his boots back to his closet, relaxing languidly into the grey velveteen of the sofa facing an outer wall as he cracked his ever pained neck.

As he watched the rain pouring kneazles and hippogriffs from the heavy clouds outside, the chorus of water dropping onto the roof was interrupted by a soft rap at the attic door.

"Come in." he called, even as his counterpart entered, freshly showered and smelling of fragrant lemon cookies.

Most, if not all, of her daily glamours had been dropped from what he could tell, as her fuzzy hair now sparkled barely above her scalp, and he could see the rosy glow beneath the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her skin was dewy and refreshed, as if she had emerged from a meadow at sunrise. She plopped with no grace beside him on the sofa, swinging her legs, which were nearly entirely exposed in her dastardly short trousers, up onto the space in between them. He mused the skin there reminded him sorely of the white silken sheets of Malfoy Manor, as they shone almost lilac in their lack of pigment. He fought with the urge to touch them to find out if they were anywhere near as smooth as they appeared. Her feet were bare save for a shining red polish on the nails, and, he belatedly realized, situated soundly on his thigh, crossed at the ankles.

"Beautiful weather we're having, eh?" she began, just a hint of her old Irish accent creeping in due to the familiar setting. "Liquid sunshine I call it." she finished with a laugh.

Something in the melodious sound, and the chipper reframing of the weather which was so endearing it was borderline sickening, broke Severus's desire to restrain himself. Hadn't he had enough of closing off his own desires for the placation of others? Surely he could trust her to voice her opinion if she found his touch uncomfortable, especially seeing she felt no need to ask him if he enjoyed being used as a footrest.

'_She has enough resources now to successfully move on from here should this all go South.' _he reasoned with himself, taking one of her feet in his hands as he lightly stroked at her high arches.

"Quite." he replied distractedly, placing all of his attention on kneading the tension out of the tendon now melting beneath his touch. He worked his thumbs slowly from heel to toe, averting his gaze as her head dropped to the back of the sofa and her eyes rolled shut. It seemed such an intimate gesture, one he felt no entitlement to view, no matter that he had elicited it. He would be content to feel the relaxing of her muscles beneath the skin which was indeed as soft as he had imagined.

"Gods that feels good." She moaned incoherently, trying to gather her thoughts to remember what she had invited him to discuss. She eventually gave up on her plight, deciding to milk this moment for any ounce of pleasure it contained, without thinking too heavily about the symbolism of his gesture or what he may be insinuating by it. She would have gifted him with anything he asked of her so long as he kept doing _that_.

As he completed his ministrations on the one foot, he ran his slim finger over the top of it to the base of her leg, imploring her to offer him the other. She acted as she was bid, even as a bright tingle misted itself from her ankle all the way to her scalp, covering her skin in chill bumps.

"You like that, do you?" he said in a mocking baritone, allowing a small smirk of triumph cross his features, still not looking at her.

She didn't answer immediately, opting to gather her thoughts while hoping against hope whatever liquids were now flowing freely from her had not stained his sofa irreparably.

"Oh yes, very much." she finally breathed. What was a little loss of control in such an intimate setting? Didn't she deserve to allow herself a modicum of trust for someone who had been for all purposes nothing but benevolent to her?

The openness of her reply was not lost on Severus, who suddenly acutely felt thirst racking his throat as if he had swallowed a tablespoon of salt. The rain pounding on their makeshift 'window' was not aiding him in the slightest as his mouth went completely dry. He allowed himself one last caress as he released her, wondering if this would be his final opportunity to do so.

As she removed herself from his delicate hold, her heel grazed his tumescence, all but erasing her earlier worries of appearing before him weak and broken, offering what little supplication she could as evidence of her gratitude. She held the power now, she knew. He had finally, unconsciously, bequeathed to her a need unmet - one that she could provide for no less. She would seize this opportunity as a thief to gold. Trying not to think too much about her next actions, she drew upon what remained of courage to straddle him, diving behind the curtain of his hair to taste the soft skin of his neck.

Never one for grace and feminine gestures, she landed roughly on his lap. Suddenly overcome with her weight, he realized he had once again underestimated her constitution. As his head fell back to grant her lovely mouth more territory to explore, his hands wandered gingerly up the smooth muscle of her thighs to find their home on round hips. He used his leverage to pull her down hard, suddenly finding himself much more… adequately hydrated... when their bodies connected through the scant nightclothes.

She took his cue, dancing to the rhythm of the rain as she continued trailing her tongue and lips on every centimeter of bare skin before her. His usually alabaster white complexion bloomed with delicious red strawberries under her touch. His breath was a warm breeze across her shoulders as he struggled to continue with deep inhales and exhales. With a shattered moan he succumbed to her care and attention as she ran a hand through his hair and brought her lips to his ear.

"You like that, do you?" she whispered in a mockery of his earlier taunt. He felt her smile as her lips parted.

Like it, he did. No one had dared pounce upon him with such vivaciousness since his Darling Acantha had absconded to France, without him. He had slept with a broken heart for so long, and Rianne felt like a hot cup of morning coffee after such a night. The way she moved in perfect time with him, it was as if her movements were synchronized to the very pounding of his heart. Her banter and uninhibited fondness lightened a heavy place in his soul he had carried for so long he hadn't felt it until it was gone.

His hands travelled upwards from her hips underneath the thin fabric of her undershirt to feel her ample breasts. They flowed heavy and soft from his fingers as he kneaded and massaged, his large hands finding more than enough flesh to tease and satiate. Seeming to read his thoughts, she lifted herself, resting her wrists on his shoulders as he freed her of her (admittedly feeble) confines. Just as he drew the first into his mouth, roving circles with his tongue as he held her firmly to him, she placed a foot on the floor to stand and take a step back.

She didn't remain standing for long, opting to drop to the floor as she divested him of his black flannels with a hearty jerk. She grazed her teeth over the final silken fabric separating her and her aspirations, looking to him to let him know she was ready.

A cold wave of guilt crashed over Severus at absolutely _the most_ inopportune moment. Looking into the sparkling grey eyes of his counterpart, he couldn't help but wonder if he was being a lecherous old bastard taking advantage of a desperate young woman who believed she _owed _him for showing her the decency life had not afforded her. Cursing his fickle morality and carnal nature in unison, he reached out a hand to run through the soft down present on her scalp.

"Rianne…" he said softly, "You don't need to do this. You don't owe anyone this."

He shook his head with what he knew was a look of pity, and as tears welled up in her eyes, he wondered idly which hell he would be delivered into for his indiscretion. The tears thankfully never fell. Instead, she cleared her throat and spoke to his soul.

"Severus…" he broke out in a full-body tingle at the sound of his name from her red and swollen lips. "Please, let me do this. Let me _give _to you. Merlin knows you have given to me in ways I could never repay, so can we please enjoy our time together without a running tally of the pleasures we offer each other? Take, because you want to, and because I'm offering this to you."

_Because I love you. Because I __**adore **__you. Because I __**want **__to. _She thought loudly, hoping he was still scanning the surface of her mind for things she would rather not admit to aloud. _Because you should __**receive **__for a change of bloody pace don't you think?_

If there had ever been a way to seduce Severus Snape, it would have to be this one. Love given freely was a niche of his few would ever see, and to receive the same in return was the key to his everlasting devotion. If he were heading for eternal damnation, he supposed he may as well greet the darkness fully sated. He acquiesced her demands as he leant back to offer himself fully to her.

"Do as you wish then." he growled through glazed eyes and the ghost of a grin threatening to form on his lips.

She wasted no time divesting him of his silken boxers. He was the color of fresh cream, and she wondered momentarily if he would taste just as sweet and rich. Coaxing all of the wetness of her mouth to the tip of her tongue, she gripped his hardness in one hand while coating him with her juice. She started at the base, kissing and suckling as she teased his tender nerves with her thumb. Eons later she took him into her mouth, pulling back the skin mercilessly as if she were tearing open a gift she had been waiting for her whole life. He could have finished in that moment, but seeing as she was determined to pleasure him, he was equally determined to contain himself and enjoy the full experience.

He had never been so thankful for her lack of flowing hair at that particular moment, as the view before him was far too precious to be obscured by such frivolity. She continued with such focus, her lips and hand touching around him to ensure every nerve was catered to at once. Her deliberate movements and satisfied moans would assume she was the one being served instead of him. To have such a beautiful sight reserved for his eyes only increased his desire tenfold as he thrusted up to hit the back of her throat.

She held his hips down as she moved her lips up and over him to allow herself freedom to speak. Wiping her mouth indelicately on the back of her hand, she looked into his eyes.

"Easy," she said with a hint of a smirk. "We'll get there."

He had thought himself incapable of embarrassment up until this gentle admonishment. She returned to her work as swiftly as if what she said hadn't just blown away a large portion of his identity. As she continued opening for him on the descent, then squeezing him into oblivion on the rise, he assumed it was a piece of himself he never needed to begin with.

The caress of her tongue and vibrations of her moans sent sparks dancing throughout his being, causing a gentle stream to start trickling into her mouth. At the new, salty sensation spraying over her tastebuds, she increased her pacing, working it up to a punishing degree that caused him to swell until he fell over the precipice. She pulled away methodically, clutching him close to her bare chest as his hot liquid coated her.

She placed a kiss at the spot of her victory for the evening, casting a cleaning and drying charm over them and the surrounding area before pulling back on her nightclothes. As her paramour scanned for his wares, she lazily flicked her wand to redress him as well. At this simple consideration, had Severus Snape been a younger man more prone to emotion, he may have just fallen in love.

As it was, he pulled her into his arms, vanishing their garments once more to allow himself a searing kiss with his… _companion_. It was in this same position they awoke the next day, tangled in the comfort of one another.

**A/N: Swear on my magic I will catch you up on what is going on with Narcissa and Dr. Granger expeditiously. I do have to finish the "in the morning" scene though… Snape waits for no fae, and neither does Dash **looks around to see if she's listening****

**If you're wondering where my Ravenclaw went, I kicked her out of the party to go Full Slytherin with my characters this chap.**

**Coven witches, house points if you can find your respective quotes and words in here. You all offer all the inspiration and it just gets incorporated on it's own.**

**Toodles!**

**Vine**


	13. Witch, Heal Thyself II

**A/N: Providing you a preliminary Rennervate Maxima if you tend to die from fluff overdoses. **

**Lemons. Start at the -oxXOXxo- if you prefer to skip those.**

**OC has a foul mouth, but oh the things she can do with it…**

**On with the show!**

**Vine **

Rianne languidly awoke to sunlight beaming through the clouds of the charmed walls around her. Although his eyes were closed, she could sense her partner for the evening was awake due to the cadence of his breath.

He had been a troublesomely light sleeper, Rianne had found, waking numerous times throughout the night at the slightest provocation. She had awakened several times herself, pulling him back in to her each time he rolled away to the very edge of their transfigured sleeping space.

It was almost comical to her how he had squirmed and writhed, each time to be pulled back into her arms and pillowed against her breasts as she stroked his gloriously smooth hair. No wonder he was such a snarky git during the day if he lacked sound sleep this way each night.

She could tell her day would be an arduous endeavor, and she would never be so thankful for Claw's strong American coffee to get her through it.

Casting a cleaning charm on both of their mouths, she spared a thought for the muggles who would have to depart their lovers' embraces to clean their teeth manually.

"Good morning." she spoke softly, sweetly; as she brushed a few tendrils of hair away from her counterpart's face.

They were facing each other, one of her legs hooked across his hip as she lay snugly in the crook of his arm. His other arm was wrapped soundly around her waist, pulling her flush to him as she bid him to awaken.

The lids of his eyes slowly rose to greet her with the same black stare that set her pulse racing every time.

"Good morning." he drawled in reply, his voice deep and husky with sleep.

Rianne shivered at the vibration of the sound, pulling them impossibly closer together where they were joined at the hips.

Snape felt her tremble in his arms, having been mostly awake and enjoying the bliss of her embrace for quite some time now. He relished in the feeling of it even as she coated him with her warm wetness where their bodies connected. At the sensation, he wanted nothing more than to pleasure her for hours on end until her shaking was ingrained into every crevice of his skin.

"Please…" she begged, using her hand to guide him through the slick passage to her awaiting entrance.

He smirked at her. Had she really set herself up so tastefully? Ah, payback is a vengeful little harpy…

Leaning to nestle the burgeoning scruff of his face into her neck, he spoke to the edge of her ear.

"Easy…" he said slowly, in the same low drawling timbre; allowing his lips to flutter against the sensitive nerves as she drenched him again with her mounting desire. "We'll get there."

He took her lips in his own, caressing her face with his hand as he plunged into her. He was as gentle as she was insistent, mercilessly drawing him deeper and faster with her hands and legs both pulling at his hips. As their tongues danced along each other, she moaned wantonly into his mouth. She rolled forcefully onto her back, pulling him atop her to grip him with both strong legs wrapped around his slim waist.

"More! Gods, more!" she demanded through a breathy wail. One hand was burying in his hair as the other clung to his back for dear life.

"Hmm…" he hummed, causing her heart to pump so she could hear the ringing of her pulse in her ears. "Who are you asking?" he whispered, running his tongue along the edge of her ear to complete his goading. She felt her face flush red and her back arch at his provocation.

"Severus!" she moaned as he filled her to completion.

"Mmm… that's more like it." he growled as he looked into her eyes, granting her his lips once more in reward of her cooperation.

He splayed lips and hands all across her being, supplicating her neck, shoulders, breasts and stomach as he dove relentlessly in and out of her. Swiftly unlocking her legs from around him to reposition himself, he bent them slowly back towards her shoulders as he rose to his knees.

"Quite supple, I see." he noted with a smirk as she crossed her legs over her stomach, attempting to grant him more access as he continued thrusting deep within her.

As he ran his fingers down the back of her thigh in a whisper of a caress, she longed to feel him in every part of her. She wanted to remember him in her core, her chest, her throat when they inevitably parted.

"Faster!" she cried for him, willing him to leave his imprint upon her very soul.

She gripped his hair tightly in both hands, begging in the most primal way for him to grant her release, at the same time never freeing her again.

"Must teach you some manners…" he taunted, biting his lip as he dipped leisurely to touch what had to be the back of her navel.

"Gods, Severus! Please, Severus, PLEASE!" she screamed, her voice cracking as she wailed.

"Ah, see what you can get when you request it with decency?" he chided once more, picking up his pace to set the world around her ablaze with nothing but his presence.

Her moans and chants of "Oh, Severus!" and "Gods, yes!" could ostensibly be heard a block away, had there been any neighbors in the vicinity. As it was, he had the feeling he would later be hearing about the groans escaping him unwillingly as she pounded her fists into his chest upon her release.

The look on her face during her - admittedly violent - revelry was enough to push him over the edge. He stilled himself as he spilled into her waiting depths, clinging to her soaked waist for stability.

A cold sweat broke out on his back as a thought rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind, quite nearly leaving his mouth before he bit his tongue.

'_Acantha'_

Well, that would need to be dealt with, he supposed.

For now, he contented himself with burying his face in the neck of the witch laying thoroughly satisfied beneath him. That was until he made the mistake of leaving his legilimency a bit too open.

'_Gods I love him. Fuck, I could do this forever. Where did I put my wand?...'_

As the witch jerked her head to the left and right, assumedly searching for her wand, Snape decided to play none the wiser.

"What is it?" he intoned innocently.

"I left my wand around here somewhere last night. Salazar! What time is it?! I'm going to be late!" yelled the suddenly frantic witch, rolling out from under Severus to kick off of his thigh. She landed face first into the hard floor, barely bracing herself with her hands as she went. As she righted herself and started looking for her wand, she mutely noticed his protestations. Unbeknownst to her, the area she had so indelicately pushed off of held a deep mass of scarring from his time in his former occupation.

"For Salazar's sake witch! Do be mindful of where you place your feet and fists! I am getting old, witch! Have mercy upon my body!" he bellowed irately.

"You're not old." she mumbled. "Bloody.. fucking.. Merlin's thrice damned bollocks!..." she ranted, still searching for her wand amidst sodden sheets and transfigured furniture. "Bloody morning shag sessions.. Making me lose me bleeding wand.." she continued, still upending the attic in her quest to remain timely at her new job.

"Bloody hell woman. I've known trained assassins whose mouths were less foul than yours." he mentioned with a bit of shock. In truth, he generally quite liked her distaste for formality, and her swearing like a Death Eater would have him hot around the collar, had he been wearing one.

"You weren't calling my mouth foul last night." she sassed, sparing him an appraising glance and a roll of her eyes.

"Accio wand." he drawled, as her wand rolled out from under the transfigured bed to land in his hand.

"Thank you." she said, reaching for her magical implement. He held it firmly above her head and out of reach, scowling all the while. Had he been the least bit clothed, she was sure billows would be present.

"How, Ms. Felthorne, do you ask for things?" he said with every bit of the venom he was known for.

"First of all…" she began, "...how dare you call me Ms. Felthorne while standing here starkers and thoroughly shagged, with _my _wand in your hand, Severus?"

"Oh, I assure you," he replied, arching an eyebrow, "I dare."

She took a deep breath, swallowing any lingering panic and anger in favor of placation.

"Please, may I have my wand back, sir?" she cheekily questioned, batting her eyelashes as she went.

"Do you not think an apology is in order, Ms. Felthorne?" he was being petty now, and he knew it, but he was still slightly miffed at her rough handling. If he were to have her treat him how he wished to be treated, he would have to teach her. As he had learned in his unfortunately many years of educating, teaching had it's inherent unpleasantries.

"Ugh." she scoffed. "Fine. I'm sorry you're a fragile old twat who can't take a hit." she laughed as she said it, and he rewarded her with a slap on the arse for her mirth.

"Ow!" she screeched, rubbing her reddened backside. "Now who is playing rough?" she asked with sarcasm.

She bent her head low, placing a kiss to his thigh.

"I do truly apologize if I hurt you." she stated genuinely. "I'll make an effort to be more gentle."

"It would be appreciated." he responded, grazing her face with the back of his hand.

Severus placed the wand into her awaiting palm, just as she yelled "CLAAAWWW!" in what he was certain was in effort to grate his nerves further. He was correct, as she knew the elf answered to none but her master.

"Claw." he said softly. The elf appeared in a miniature blue bathrobe with an oversized rose gold eye mask perched atop her head. Thankfully, she already held a tray of coffee and cakes for them to indulge in.

"Master called?" she drawled in her swaying American accent. "Or, should Claw say 'Master, oh, Master, Gods Master' called?" she continued in a mockery of Rianne's former worshipping session with the Potions Master.

The elf stared daggers at Rianne, who had evidently interrupted her sleep.

"Silencing charm, witch." Claw snarled as she popped out of existence, leaving the breakfast tray on a small table.

-oxXOXxo-

The day had come for Park Couture's debut to wizarding society. Lady Parkinson congratulated herself on a move well played in hiring Narcissa Malfoy's recommended glamourist at the last minute. The woman had been incredibly strong - offering more intricate, longer-lasting charms than the entire team she had hired for her models. The witch had done a splendid job at her transformation, and she was sure to turn a few heads and drop her share of jaws this evening.

The imitation fairy lights surrounding her deep violet gown were unmatched. Parkinson was sure none would notice she hadn't been graced by the Fae themselves this evening. The light violet she had charmed for her irises set off the deep purple smoke of her eyelids in a most complementary way. Pansy mused that she looked - and felt - every part the malevolent goddess on her throne of success and glory.

She spared a fond little glare at the spectator's box of the packed arena, where a tuft of white hair stuck out amidst the hordes of red-clad security. As her violet eyes met steely grey, she returned a curt nod of acknowledgement. Pansy could have sworn she saw a pearlescent arm scoot closer to him, as she donned the most unsettling Slytherin smirk she could muster for the Girl-Who-Revived.

'_Prettier than Hermione Sodding Granger' _she repeated in her mind, feeling the warm triumph course through her veins and the singe of power buzz through her mind's eye like a lover's caress.

'_Eat your sparkling heart on a plate, bitch.' _she thought loudly enough surely the mudblood-unicorn-freak situated near her once-love could hear.

Pansy turned to the crowd, inhaling deeply of her accomplishments. The arena was full to the brim with what looked like every single witch in Wizarding Britain. Truly, the crowd was 90% female, with plus-ones and who's-who's sprinkled in sparingly. Apparently Park Couture hit a collective nerve by offering witches clothing they could actually _use _instead of merely _display_.

As the full orchestra interlaced with electric guitars and pounding timpani drums hit it's crescendo, Pansy took her place center stage to address the wooing masses.

"Friends!" her booming voice announced through a sonorous charm "Tonight, we embark on a transformation to Wizarding Society. One which will give you back your precious time that has until now been so morbidly wasted in vain. Tonight, we shall literally change the fabric of your daily lives to suit your needs most elegantly." She tilted her chin to the heavens, removing every ounce of emotion from her face as a general leading her army into battle. "Let us saunter into our future with our heads held high my darlings!" She boasted, extending a long, thin arm above her head dramatically, as if she were holding an invisible goblet with which to toast her audience. "Witches and Wizards of Britain, I present to you, Park Couture!" She let her hand drop gracefully to her slim waist, tossing her head back to expose the long, golden column of her neck decorated with myriads of glittering diamonds and amethysts.

The applause she received was deafening as the orchestra started back up and the models began their performance around her. Pansy bowed low before returning to the tall black throne she had fashioned at the back center of the stage.

She watched the performance through a daydream as a rush of power lit every fibre of her soul alight with manic glee. The vibrations from the loud music liquified her body, providing her the most intense high of her life. As she scanned the crowd searching for reactions through flashing bulbs and floating fabrics, she noticed an oddity in the press seating area.

A sparkle of gold gleamed high atop the crowd, as a witch stood fully in her seat with an arm outstretched to the sky. Was she holding, a _jar_?

'_What the hell?_' Pansy mused, casting an eagle eye charm to get a closer view of the spectator interrupting her exquisite daydream.

'_Looney Fucking Lovegood!'_ she sighed internally, noticing the eccentric reporter by the crown of flowers she wore over her long hair.

This woman, paying no mind to the jeering reporters behind her who were leaning exasperatedly to try to get their glamour shots, was standing in her seat, muttering to herself (or to the _jar _Pansy supposed) trying to coax _something _into it along with a thin black strip of fabric.

'_I swear to Merlin and all that is pure if she so much as blurs one photo of my press exposure I will burn that sodding paper stand of hers to the ground!' _Pansy's temper placated in her mind. Why did she deign to offer press passes to every publication in Britain? Surely, she could have called upon more discretion with her invitations. She kicked herself internally for this minor misstep.

As the show went on fantastically, the deep fabrics of her labour of passion floating by her as the models rotated and strutted, Lady Parkinson once more allowed herself to be caught up in the rapture. Come tomorrow morning, all of her inventory would be sold out, and she would be an infinitely rich witch indeed. One for whom the solidifying of this heady power would not go unnoticed. Now, she was _important_. No longer would she fade into the background of the crowds in her malice and contempt. No. _She _would hold the purse strings in the donning of this new era. _She _would call the shots. As the roar of the crowds grew louder and louder in their chorus of praise for _her _brilliance, she would be _noticed _for once in her life for the clever and capable witch she was. She drank in the glory, tasting each drop as the finest brandy coating the blades of her sharp tongue.

As the show drew to a close, she once again bowed to her guests, taking hands with all of her models in an impenetrable wall of defiance.

This is when she heard the call that shook her very bones, immediately ending her revery in a most savage and abrupt onslaught to her heightened morale.

"Pans! _Pans_!" she heard an airy female voice call over the dispersing admirers.

It was as if someone meant to do her blossoming self-assurance harm, calling her by the name she hadn't heard since her days of melting into the entourage of Malfoy's shadowing robes.

"Pans!" she heard again, at a shout now. She turned to address the assaultress of her new identity.

She did not dare to answer her, instead penning the intruding journalist with the most piercing glare she could muster. The blonde ran up to her, audaciously placing her hands on her person to wrap Pansy in a hug that crushed her already feeble lung capacity.

"Dear Merlin I have been so worried for you!" the witch gushed, causing Pansy to shake her head in confusion.

"What?" the dark witch muttered uncouthly, scrunching her now _aquiline _nose in an imitation of her former self.

"Shh, shh…" the blonde pacified, ignoring her question to once again speak to the jar. "That's it… in you go…" she mumbled, fanning her hand above the opening to the container as if she were leading a line of some sort towards the black fabric within. She sealed the contents with a loud pop, and a halo of blue light surrounded it.

Pansy briefly noted the all-encompassing inebriation she previously felt gave way to a much more.. sober... state at the other witch's actions.

"Those imitation fairy lights are quite dangerous, Pans. Fae do not take well at all to their light being copycatted." Pansy was momentarily chagrined to realize someone had in fact noticed the lights were not real. The other witch continued. "You were being positively eaten alive by nargles up there!"

Pansy huffed in defeat as she crossed her arms under her elevated breasts. Nargles had been proven to be existent a few years back, however, only those with fae blood had the ultraviolet-sensitive vision needed to 'see' them so to speak. Had she been attacked by the creatures, she never would have known.

"What's it to you?" Parkinson spat acerbically. As eyes the color of wide open sky graced her, she faltered in her glare momentarily to be sucked into their hold.

"What in Rowena's name have you done to your nose?" the blonde asked in lieu of answering, causing a churning storm of rage and confusion to brew in Pansy's gut. She felt a thin, cool finger touch the feature in question. Those with fae blood had an annerving tendency to tap on noses. Parkinson mused she would never quite understand the fascination.

"Fixed it." the dark witch curtly replied, looking askance into the nearly empty arena.

"Fixed it?" questioned the reporter. "Why, I hadn't known it was broken. Dittany is quite helpful in that area, and also allows you to maintain the former shape, you know." stated the part fae with the most unnervingly helpful disposition.

"The shape…" intoned Lady Parkinson, shame-filled and exuding hate "...is what I fixed."

"Ah. I hadn't realized. I thought the shape was adorable." Lovegood stated matter-of-factly.

"Ha!" Pansy snorted mirthlessly. The unfortunate snout she had been born with had been called many things, most of which she had recounted to her glamourist the day prior, but never not once, was 'adorable' among it's descriptors.

"It looked like the muzzle of a dog." Pansy spouted with acid. "A pug to be exact."

The glowing blonde held a look of genuine confusion at this remark before asking,

"Are pugs not adorable?"

Parkinson was taken aback by this question and the curiosity with which it was presented. She had never thought about the veracity of the pet insult used against her before. The furry little squishy-faced creatures were sort of endearing, in a very "so-ugly-it's-cute" kind of way, she supposed.

"They are." she relented. "But on a person, not so much."

"A beautiful witch with an adorable nose. I don't think your argument holds much validity Pans." the reporter intoned, shaking her head with the same blank and far away expression on her pale features. "Beautiful plus adorable equals cute. Simple arithmancy really." she mumbled, taking a step back to appraise her conversational partner. "Don't get the wrong impression, this look is quite stunning." She waved her hand to gesture to the flowing violet gown and accompanying glamours. "However, every witch on your stage looked something like this." She landed her far away look into Pansy's eyes once more. In this precise moment, something painful inside of Lady Parkinson broke spectacularly, with an internal cry of anguish and a burst of muted colors. "I simply prefer the look of _you_."

Pansy duly noted she _should _feel insulted, being referred to as 'cute' - like some pygmy puff or kneazle kitten. She decided not to take offense however, bidding herself to allow the witch her preference. This may have just been the first time someone _had _a preference for her natural features. At the very least, this had been the first time anyone had voiced such contemplations.

Furthermore, still locked in a million kilometer stare with the witch before her, she noticed the airy creature might just be cute herself. The complete antithesis of her counterpart's current visage, Luna Lovegood held no discernable glamours, allowing every freckle and blemish of her skin to be bared to the world. Her light lashes disappeared into blonde wisps on the ends, giving her wide eyes the allure of ice blanketed in snow. Having graduated from the phase of wearing vegetables for accessories, Pansy noted she had grown into a quite an alluring version of herself. However, she was still _herself _nonetheless.

She wore a crown of braided flowers, each mismatched and providing a blanket of aroma so soft it could have been imagined. Her golden locks flowed freely past her obviously favored white tee shirt to her battered muggle blue jeans, which were faded and ripped from the knees to the hem. She wore a pair of white muggle trainers marked and charmed with all manner of swirling illustrations. A plethora of bracelets crafted from an assortment of muggle office supplies graced her wand arm. Colorful paperclips and rubber-bands, strings and clothing pins obscured the light blue veins that surely led directly to her heart.

The comfort she held in her obscurity was enticing. Pansy considered she had many lessons to learn from the woman in front of her.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the fae-witch spoke.

"You don't have anything going on after this do you?" she said, more a statement than a question. "Let's have an adventure? I promise I'll turn off the cameras; unless of course you enjoy that kind of thing."

In response to Luna's unabashed proposal, Pansy's laugh sounded foreign to her own ears.

"Yeah," she replied, grin on her face "I suppose I could use an adventure."

With that, she grabbed the unfathomable woman's elbow and apparated away to explore the unknown.

**A/N: Woo! Well, I never. Luna and Pansy decided to insert themselves for an HEA. **

**The green fairy craves validation. Please review to supplicate her. **

**Vine **


	14. Time

**A/N: Hi Dearies!**

**This chapter is the official backstory for our world. Canon history did not happen in this universe. The only remnants of the original story are the characters and the settings, which belong to JK Rowling and I make no money from. **

**Credits - **

**Thank you Acantha Rayne Oak-Moon, Sole Owner of Severus Snape's Black Heart and High Priestess of the Coven, for editing this chapter and adopting me. :) **

**Thank you Dash and Snow for giving me the idea for creating this as a chapter, instead of leaking you all this information as the story progresses. You have them to thank for me not torturing you slowly. **

**Also, many of the situations here - including the Girl-Who-Revived and her pursuit of justice, and the enhanced powers of the Resurrection Stone - come straight out of Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality. All the gratitude to Eliezer Yudkowsky who has given "enthusiastic consent" for those of us using his world as our sandbox. **

**Answers from Chapter 12: **

"**Please… Let me do this." was Claw's quote from All of You.**

**The "skin like white silk sheets" was Dash's imagery from Your Secret to Collect.**

"**Greet the darkness fully sated." was Moon's quote from her review of Moments.**

**On with the show!**

**Vine **

_2007_

Narcissa Malfoy sat upon the luxurious, blush pink, silk chaise lounge in her infuriatingly enormous wardrobe. Four-fifths of the wares in said wardrobe belonged to her spouse - everything from spectacularly intricate dinner robes to muggle business attire, as well as racks upon twirling racks of all assortments of footwear. Narcissa liked to refresh her garments every few months, donating her more casual accoutrements while auctioning off the more elaborate pieces. This pruning offered a much smaller assortment of items to choose from, however the choice was still an unnerving one.

Narcissa was no stranger to daunting choices; her life had been full of them. One more selection per day of such a trivial variety was just enough to set her nerves on edge. Thus she sat, as she often did at this hour, drink in hand to debate with herself the foolishness of spending so much energy on such an inconsequential matter.

Alone with her thoughts, she reflected on the many decisions that had been made to lead her to this point.

After word had circulated about Lucius's revival all those years in the past, he had been immediately tried for a life sentence in Azkaban for his alleged war crimes. With no small effort from Narcissa, the Malfoy Foundation, and the remnants of Wizarding High Society, he was able to thwart the law by convincing the new Ministry his substantial donations to reconstruction efforts, along with insider information only he could provide would behoove all parties involved significantly more than a life behind bars. The trial had been long and tedious, with riots and threats to his life causing friction at every turn. In the end, his media connections along with testimony from Severus Snape, who had become the darling of the Light for his strategic role as a spy, had been the nail in the coffin to secure his freedom.

The Ministry itself had been in turmoil for some time following. The Boy Who Lived and his righteous counterpart, The Girl Who Revived, held substantial influence in the enlightenment of Wizarding Britain. Being the most celebrated, if not the most decorated heroes of the war had its advantages and before long all of wizardom was being educated in muggle society as well as muggle science. They had managed to convince the Ministry that the Muggles were indeed a viable threat to humanity, and the only way to secure the continuance of magic itself would be to learn their ways and out-maneuver them. It was with this vast departure from life as she knew it that Narcissa Malfoy reluctantly began to steep herself in the ways of non-magical beings, learning all she could to ensure her family's continued survival.

It was during this time of personal growth in all things muggle, Narcissa developed a complex of sorts about the well-being of her loved ones. Once information, previously kept behind lock and key, about the true nature of the Muggles was provided to the masses, there was no plausibility of denying they were a dangerously powerful lot. They were able to communicate with each other across the globe via a plethora of means, none of which included owls or other flying beasts. They developed all manner of concoctions to prolong life and ease suffering, fighting back against death itself. The astounding prevalence of their mechanisms for war alone were enough to rob Narcissa of sleep on countless nights. Worst of all, there were droves of them. They had populated the earth to an unfathomable degree, outnumbering their magical counterparts ten to one.

She had developed a jadedness and indeed envy of the creatures she had once believed to exist only in terrifying children's tales. Her jealousy and thirst for their power was insatiable in her soul. They held the might of "electricity" which they harnessed for light, warmth, and all manner of useful applications. Boundless knowledge was at their fingertips with their instant communication. She craved these fortunes for her own, and knew deep in her being it would enhance her life and give her the capability to never lose the ones she held dear again.

Healings had become much more common in this world she had been thrust into, pacifying Narcissa's all-consuming fear by a fraction of a degree. The powers of the Resurrection Stone, held by none other than Harry Potter, had been bequeathed to the masses to stunning results. As Harry had so serendipitously discovered during his time as a student at Hogwarts, the Stone was not merely a means of conjuring shades of loved ones who had passed beyond the veil. It was, in fact, a way to transfigure a body for a person devoid of the usual human ailments. Although it would not protect the user from injury or future maladies, it could certainly ward off any present illnesses or damage so long as a person's soul had not irrevocably parted with the body. This development had reasonably caused a huge upset in the healing industry.

Harry had willingly shared his bounty with the entirety of the wizarding community, using the Stone's power to renew life to those on the brink of death, then the chronically sick, then the elderly. The Stone had been duplicated hundreds of times. Although weaker in their powers, the duplicated Stones now resided in every Wizarding hospital in the world. Expected life spans had nearly doubled at the development for some time. This lasted until the strength of the duplicated Stones had begun waning, causing increased pressure on the Ministry to come up with a more permanent solution.

While healing magic had come leaps and bounds from the addition of the Stone to the collective consciousness, the problem of Death still lingered as a thorn in Narcissa's side. As such, Narcissa's anxiety came to a boil when her only son and heir married his schoolyard friend and long-time sweetheart.

Hermione Granger, having been the first to be brought back to life in an immensely dark ritual after being mauled by a troll, was dubbed by the press as "The-Girl-Who-Revived". Being injected with unicorn blood and troll DNA, she was nearly impervious to the usual means for extinguishing the flames of life. This unique disposition did not deter those who would wish her harm, however. She was under near constant attack from those who would claim she was an unnatural deviant, insubordinate to the laws of Nature itself. The bitter irony of the whole situation was that this took place even as the masses sang her praises. She was a war hero, who devoted all of her time to righting the world to perfect justice. After graduating, she swiftly and single handedly dispatched every dementor from Azkaban prison. She fought relentlessly for the rights of magical creatures. Eventually, "No rest for the Light" would become her national slogan as she rose to become the youngest candidate for Minister of Magic in wizarding history.

Thus, Narcissa had worried relentlessly for her son's safety in the presence of his dear wife. She pleaded repetitively - for Narcissa would never admit to nagging - to Draco for him to undergo any ceremony necessary to keep himself alive during the many subterfuge efforts made against his wife. He eventually decided on a daily concoction brewed with dragon's blood to keep his constitution intact. As it turns out, dragons are quick- healing and quite fortuitous creatures, being immune to many otherwise deadly poisons.

Her daughter in law had proven herself to be quite an endearing companion, always showing respect to the Pureblood regimens expected of her, as archaic as she may believe them to be. She was kind and courteous to a fault, always offering to assist Narcissa with this or that, stopping by with excellent sweets for her and rare books for her husband. Narcissa quickly ascertained the witch was immeasurably intelligent, wise beyond her years and an excellent conversationalist. She would have made a model Ravenclaw had her past played out differently. Narcissa soon found herself eagerly anticipating Hermione's attendance at all family gatherings, waiting to see what her newest fountain of knowledge would bestow upon her.

Having the opportunity to speak with Hermione at regular intervals proved integral to Narcissa's growing familiarity with Muggle society. There was so much to learn about these strange creatures who sought to control their fates by the manipulation of the natural world. She had started by reading all of the literature given to muggle primary school students on this magic they called 'science'. Years went by when Lucius saw little of his wife outside of the vast Manor library, where she could assuredly be found greedily devouring all of the muggle books Hermione delivered weekly for her education. Eventually, an owl would arrive weekly from their dearest daughter in law with all of the contemporary journals telling what the muggles had most recently been practicing while the wizarding world woefully played catch-up.

It was an article in a journal about muggle mind magic which rekindled an old fire in Narcissa's heart. 'Neuroscience' they called it, this magic calling upon the strength of the mind and it's connection to the remainder of the physical body. The muggles had found proven ways of manipulating the human brain - the organ they believed to form thoughts and control the body - to function in more obedient manners for it's possessor. Narcissa was captivated by the potential this offered her, and the wheels began turning in her mind for how this new information may be implemented in her favor.

It was with this knowledge she set about petitioning the Ministry for permission to revive her sister Bellatrix. It was a painstaking, arduous process, even with her favorable connection with those in power. Using dark magic was still taboo, and attempting to bring back a notorious war criminal with powers generally not allotted to the majority of citizens would be a slaughter of ethics if word were to circulate. Still, Narcissa's heart was plagued with the memory of her oldest sister, the one who held her as she cried and fought ferociously against all who would wish her harm. Narcissa refused to believe it was beyond her power to revive that version of Bellatrix, and save her from the madness that ultimately ended her life long before she died. Thus, she persisted until her plea was granted by a Ministry who, above all else, wanted answers about how to prevent another Wizarding War.

So it was that in the winter of 2001, Bellatrix was once again alive and warded in the newly erected St. Mungo's Institution for the Criminally Insane. Her memories masterfully hidden from her consciousness, Bellatrix Black believed with certainty she was an eleven year old girl. As much as Narcissa wished she could simply apply the Stone's powers to Bella to cure her mind of whatever ailment had overtaken it, she would have to be patient as the Healers unraveled the fabric of Bellatrix's mind to uncover it's dark secrets. In the process, Narcissa dared hope they would find the cause of her sister's insanity, hopefully eradicating it from her mind and the Wizarding World as a whole.

It was during this agonizing wait that Narcissa began delving headfirst into her scientific studies to soothe her festering conscience. If she could alleviate as much suffering as possible while the Healers and investigators worked on Bellatrix, she reasoned the rewards of her efforts would outweigh the treason she was allowing to befall her sister on the path to recovery. Besides, if this entire endeavor went tits up, and the Ministry decided to withdraw it's support for any reason, Narcissa would have a solid skillset to fall back on to restore her sister to rights.

Life went on like this for quite some time, Narcissa running the Malfoy Foundation whilst studying the ways of the Muggles. Lucius busied himself with tending the Malfoy fortune and speaking sweet nothings in the ear of the Ministry. Hermione ran for Minister, Harry as her right hand consultant. Draco spent his time worshipping the ground she walked on and tending to his two mischievous boys. Severus had all but disappeared from the earth, preferring to live out his days in his secluded cottage, only resurfacing to show his face at obligatory Malfoy family events.

All in all, life was splendid, and kind to Narcissa beyond measure.

The problem then that she had no solution for was how to ensure the continuation of this predicament. She wanted her life, her lineage, her legacy to last forever, or at least until a time she saw it fit to relent of her own choosing. If the Muggles had their way with the world, she was certain magical beings would meet their ends swiftly and without recompense. Worse still, they may be subjugated, as humans seemed to have a particular penchant to force to submission those who were both useful and at a disadvantage.

As she took a sip of her indulgent elf-made wine, pondering the complexities of life, a silvery krait manifested itself with a message from her husband:

"Cissy, your favorite black dress is on the upper rack to the right, Section 3A." the patronus spoke in her husband's aristocratic timbre "I still don't understand why you won't have the elves ready your clothing. Please meet me in the library when your brooding is complete?"

Laughing, Narcissa Accio'd the dress her husband so graciously selected, along with matching flats as an afterthought. She mused that her brooding would indeed be complete as she refused to appear before him anything but effervescently cheerful.

As she made to depart her wardrobe, she spared a glance at her exasperated elf, who was shaking her head while organizing Lucius's shoes. Indeed, he would never understand and she would have it no other way.

**A/N: Hopefully all of your questions about what has happened up until this point have been answered. Here is a timeline if you are still a bit lost. **

**Timeline**

**1960 - Narcissa is born**

**1971 - Narcissa starts Hogwarts**

**1974 - Narcissa and Lucius betrothed**

**1978 - Rianne born**

**1979 - Malfoys Married**

**1980 - Draco born**

**1990 - Second Wizarding War begins**

**1991 - Narcissa seeks aid for Bellatrix**

**1992 - Hermione killed by troll, resurrected in dark ritual, becomes Girl-Who-Revived**

**1993 - Dark Lord vanquished, Lucius and Bellatrix die by beheading**

**1994 - Severus resurrects Lucius**

**1995 - Rianne graduates Hogwarts, Sev starts dating Acantha**

**1997 - Harry, Draco, and Hermione graduate Hogwarts**

**1997 - Harry becomes consultant for Ministry, HG banishes dementors from Askaban**

**1998 - Harry grants mass use of Resurrection Stone**

**1999 - Acantha splits with Sev **

**1999 - Hermione runs for Minister**

**2000 - Rianne and Severus move in together, Rianne starts working for Pansy**

**2001 - Draco and HG marry**

**2001 - Narcissa convinces Ministry to bring back Bellatrix**

**2001 - 2006 - Malfoy's live a normal-ish life**

**2007 - Narcissa tries more and more convoluted plots to conquer Death, teams up with HG's mom**

**Thanks for sticking with me as I learn how to write stories.**

**Fiction is meant to stimulate our imaginations, augment our realities and generally bring us pleasure. If you find anything in this fic that doesn't do that for you, feel free to change it in your mind until it feels right. **

**All the love and light, **

**Vine **


	15. Vulnerability

**A/N: This was originally three short chapters titled "Devotion, Humility, and Letting Go" respectively. They all had a common thread though. Our characters, Slytherins as they are, have discovered the magic of Vulnerability. It could really be a one shot, but as it was the first little section I wrote for Magics, I feel this is it's home.**

**I think I mentioned Lucius's "sigil" somewhere in here… The sigil is the snake headed cane which holds his wand. Sometimes he doesn't take the wand out, he just casts through the cane. **

**There's lots of fluff here, but a short TW:**

**T/W: PTSD dreams and vague mentions of gore.**

**Here's hoping you enjoy!**

**Vine**

_2007_

"Cissy, darling, do come sit and talk with me."

Lucius sat in his consistent stance for this time of evening: seated comfortably in his grandiose leather chair, overly dressed in black silk pajamas and a smoking jacket with matching bespoke loafers, nose securely in a book. He cut quite an imposing figure against the packed floor-to-ceiling cherry wood shelves and towering marble fireplace of Malfoy Manor's Grand Library.

His long white hair hadn't thinned one bit since the war; not since Azkaban, nor grandchildren. His chiseled face was thinner, but age had never robbed the Malfoys of their glorious aesthetic. Narcissa followed suit and age was kind to her; all smooth skin and glowing blue eyes atop a well-toned - if petite - physique. Wealth was a convenient way to ensure such a situation. Expensive potions made from the most potent ingredients, a constant supply of nutritious food, and perhaps a touch of dark magic ensured she would never look anything less than well-slept and radiant.

She glided over to her husband's armchair to take a seat in his lap. Abruptly shutting the book he had been devouring a moment before, he pulled her into a tight embrace. She returned the gesture kissing him softly on the side of his throat, while breathing his scent in deeply. He always smelled like a crisp wind on a bright winter day: peppermint, bergamot, cedar wood. Sitting up straight, she ran her hands gently over his scalp as he closed his eyes.

"How was your day my love?" She asked softly, as if the day were a wound and her voice a soothing balm.

He tilted his head forward and peered through slits exposing his ice-gray eyes. The same bright, mesmerizing eyes that sent chills through many a Death Eater, residing in the face of a perfect Occulmens, who could stare directly at the ghastly Voldemort and flatter him. This was the exact gaze now perusing her in adoration. She would never, never let herself forget that.

"I missed you today." he crooned in his mesmerizing, silky baritone.

"My love," she implored, continuing to stroke his hair "How could you ever miss me?" She dropped her tone to a seductive purr. "You have so many admirers to keep you company."

She was being coy with him now, and as was their custom, he took the bait.

Looking down past his chin with a hint of a smirk pulling the corner of his mouth, his reply was as viscous and sweet as honey:

"My admirers, Cissy, are not you."

Through lidded eyes and a smile, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. Her hands ran down to his shoulders, while one of her delicate fingers lightly traced his collarbone. Holding her eyes down, she brought her lips to the cusp of his ear and whispered enticingly -

"This is true, darling. However, I _do _admire you _so_."

On the last syllable, she caught the edge of his ear between her teeth, gently guiding them down to the lobe to finish her taunting with the tip of her tongue.

His eyes fluttering shut at the provocation, he struggled a bit to respond with a gravelly timbre.

"You flatter me, beautiful creature."

Lucius sat up straight, pulling his wife in front of him to force her to meet his gaze as he spoke.

"I'm sure as soon as that love potion wears off, you will reconsider. Where is Snape when you need him?..." He looked to his left, in a mockery of searching for his old comrade.

At the jest Narcissa's laugh was music, and Lucius's smug triumph was evident in his smirk.

"You daft old snake!" she replied, lightly hitting his chest in reprimand. "Here you are, with a woman on your lap, and you decide to bring up frightening images!" they shared their amusement while Lucius retorted facetiously -

"Maybe I wanted you to cling to me in your terror?"

"Oh, it would take more than a sour potions master to terrify me, love. How's the old bat doing these days anyway?" she responded whimsically.

His smile retreated instantly to provide her a somber reply.

"Sickly I'm afraid." Although this was a turn of phrase used to denote an apology of sorts, the truth was, Lucius truly was afraid. His dear friend had been fighting an up and down battle with ailments for the past five years, however, he had never seen him so pallid and waning. He continued "You know Severus refuses to die however, so I am sure he will be on the mend soon enough." '_I hope Harry will see to it.'_ he amended internally.

Narcissa nodded her understanding.

"We should visit him." she mused aloud. "I have to tell him something I learned from the children the other day."

"Do tell me love?" inquired her husband.

Narcissa stood up, and sat in the identically ostentatious armchair beside him, taking his hand, with a serious determination on her face. Lucius brought his eyebrows together just a bit, showing the tiniest bit of concern for what was to come.

"You know sometimes Muggles portray wizards strangely in their moving plays, darling?" Narcissa began. Her husband nodded in understanding. "Some of the wizarding characters," she continued "...the Muggles call them 'super heroes'. They don't have all of our powers, only some." she nodded lightly as to ensure his comprehension.

"I see" said Lucius still staring intensely at his wife, hanging onto every word.

"According to our youngest grandchild, there is one who wears ridiculous black capes, lives in an underground laboratory, and is an arrogant arse. Care to guess what his name is?" Narcissa lifted an eyebrow in anticipation of his response.

"Tell me." Lucius demanded with intrigue in his voice.

Narcissa beamed a conspiratorial smile, her hand landing on his knee as her eyes went wide as saucers.

"Batman!" she indelicately shrieked.

The two of them laughed until tears streamed from their eyes, immediately dissipating the melancholy tension mounting only moments before.

Once Lucius caught his breath from the laughing fit, he announced,

"Oh yes, we must see Severus. I'll owl him tonight."

"You won't be sleeping in the library again, will you my love?" Narcissa's voice was deceptively sweet as she asked.

"Most certainly not, I assure you." He soberly replied.

The last time Lucius fell asleep in the library, Narcissa cursed him with an itching jinx. He woke up feeling as if he slept in a hill of fire ants. He had to call Narcissa home from a meeting to counter it. He wasn't foolish enough to make the mistake again.

Narcissa stood in front of him, smiled and kissed the top of his head.

"My sweet love," she placated "...you know I have difficulty falling asleep without you." She admitted this as a consolation while she turned to depart. There was no sense in attempting to hide her weakness from Lucius. Afterall, it would be foolish to cover every mirror in the Manor from a man so vain. She realized she had lied to Dr. Granger. Any sweets, however delicious and tempting, were of no comparison to the one watching her walk away.

xoXOXox

"Mimsy?" Lucius called from the library. He had just put the finishing touches on his letter to Severus, and was tying the letter to Emerald's leg when the small elf apparated with a pop.

"Master called?"

Lucius tilted his head back slightly, to get a good look at the creature through his heavily hooded eyes. "Yes, Mimsy. How are you, dear?"

Mimsy looked up at Lucius shyly, and crossed one leg behind her, as she always did when her Master called her dear.

"Mimsy is well Master, thank you."

"And the baby?"

Mimsy glowed. "Baby is good Master. Strong and happy."

"Delightful to hear Mimsy. I must hope you are sleeping well now. Please remember if you need to take a rest, you must take all that you need. We have plenty of elves to cover for you when you are tired."

Lucius had learned through years of torture upon his person, such violence was, contrary to prevailing beliefs, not the best method for ensuring the subordiation of one's housing staff. More flies caught with honey and such…

"Master, you are kind. Mimsy is sleeping well now, thank you. Mimsy is happy you provide work."

"I see you are wearing the necklace we gave you. Do you like it well enough?"

She ran her fingers over the diamond and sapphire chain draped over her collarbone. "Oh yes Master. It is beautiful. Mimsy is so grateful.

"Twenty years of loyal service to house Malfoy. We are most grateful _for you_."

People, and elves apparently, Lucius had learned through hard-won experience, tended to work exponentially harder and exuded more loyalty when shown appreciation for their efforts.

"Mimsy is happy to serve you until the end of Mimsy's days Master."

His point exactly.

There had been a time in his younger days Lucius was despised by house elves, and the feeling was mutual. He had been a sadistic tyrant, railing against the creatures in order to feel glimpses of control he desperately desired. After years of tribulation - war, Azkaban, and being outcast from society - Lucius decided firmly he would never cause undue suffering to another living being. The way he was treated in Azkaban made him feel less human than the Dark Lord ever did. Being locked in a cage and treated like an animal reminded him painfully of the way he formerly treated Dobby. He had considered Dobby less than human, and less deserving of decency. After being essentially sub-human himself, he vowed to right his wrongs as best as possible. There had been times when house elves were his only loyal supporters if he were honest with himself. It was too late for Dobby, but not for Mimsy, or any other sentient being for that matter. Lucius may be a snake, but even a krait never attacks unprovoked without cause.

"I'm glad you like it Mimsy. It's the least we could do, truly." He said with as much genuineness as he could muster. He paused while leaning down, elbows on his knees, to rest eye to eye with the elf. "Would you like a task for tonight?" he asked rhetorically, knowing the answer to his inquiry would be a resounding affirmation.

"Mimsy would love that Master." the elf squeaked, bouncing on her toes "How may Mimsy help?"

"I'd like the star bedding in my quarters tonight, and a change to the light yellow bedding in the morning please. Morning coffee for Lady Malfoy and I as well."

"Mimsy will prepare it right away Master!" The elf turned in preparation to apparate away to her task.

"Thank you dear. Oh, and Mimsy?"

"Yes Master?"

"Would you happen to have any wine left in the barrels?"

The elf danced up and down on her tiptoes, pulling on her over-large ears in an attempt to subdue her excitement.

"Yes Master! Would Master like elvin wine for Madam tonight? Would Master like firewhiskey?"

"You know me so well Mimsy." he said, feigning a blush as he offered a half smile to the elf "Thank you greatly."

"Master is welcome"

Mimsy disapparated while Lucius congratulated himself on a night well prepared.

xoXOXox

Narcissa walked out of the steaming lavatory into a cool breeze and the familiar scent of winter around her. She heard a soft wind blowing and the gentle song of crickets in the night. Her bed was a vast black sky with glittering diamond stars. The pillows were the softest deep purple clouds, and a full moon gently lit the room. Lucius never failed to impress, and he was nothing if not extravagant.

Laying bare in the middle of the sky, he could have been an angel, or a god for that matter, carved fresh from white marble by the most skilled craftsman; breathed into life by some unholy fire. Narcissa profusely thanked Merlin and whoever else was listening for Severus, for Harry, for pureblood origins, for unholy fires, for everything that brought Lucius back to life, and into her life to begin with. She knew she had barely escaped losing him so, so many times. And yet, here he was. She lay next to him and promptly started fiddling with his hair, first stroking it softly then threading her fingers through it and along every expertly cut feature.

"Moonlight has always suited you so well, Cissy. Did you enjoy your bath?" his voice flowed like a mountain stream.

"I did, very much. Thank you." she replied sweetly "Were you able to send your owl?"

"Emerald should be reaching her destination by now." he confirmed.

"Perfect." she replied.

Lucius adjusted himself to relax languidly back on his elbows, pointing his snake headed cane to the ceiling as he gave his wife a curious glance.

"Shall I show you the stars?" he questioned with a smirk.

"I would love it" she responded through a smile.

Lucius raised his sigil to project the night sky overhead. The constellations circled slowly, comets and meteors burning past in vivid bursts of color. It was brilliant, and beautiful, and heart -breakingly empty all at once. Lucius felt a slight debt to Potter for this spell. He must teach the pissy tyrant some incantations to tame the unruly black mop on his head one day as repayment.

He was careful never to show Sirius, or Andromeda, or other family stars, save one exception -

"Hello, Draco." Narcissa cooed softly to the ceiling-turned-universe. "What day is our son visiting us again Lucius?"

"Next Thursday my love. For an entire week." he emphasized the duration for his wife's benefit. He knew she missed her baby boy, and his choice to reside in France had affected her far more than she would prefer to let on. He continued "Before you ask, I have arranged preparations for Hermione and the children."

"Lovely. I appreciate your consideration." she replied placidly.

"Of course. Anything for you Cissy." he said with finality, and meant it.

The two settled into an embrace, entwining their fingers and legs, blonde waves spilling across his chest in a silken blanket.

Wine and whiskey still at their bedside, the Malfoys drifted to sleep beneath the stars.

xoXOXox

Deep in the dark recesses of night, Narcissa's screams could make a banshee shutter.

"Help! Draco!" pierced the blackness and catapulted Lucius straight out of his dreamless sleep.

"Cissy! I'm here. It's ok. Draco is safe!" He yelled instinctively, pulling his wife into his arms to sit up. "Cissy, Cissy can you hear me?" he continued "Draco is well. He is at le Chateaux, with Hermione and the boys."

Narcissa was now seated firmly on Lucius's lap, her head buried between his shoulder and neck, his broad hand splayed across the back of her head in a soothing gesture. He continued his reassurances as she struggled in her half lucid state to free herself from his hold.

"You are here, safe with me, Cissy." he consoled "It was all a dream. We're all ok..." He whispered the last few words, caressing her hair while he spoke. A soft shushing sound passed his lips, sounding a bit like a hiss. Her flailing body began to calm.

"Hermione?..." A confused Narcissa asked into the darkness, before consciousness washed over her like a warm tide.

She was awake, she realized belatedly. Draco was grown and married. Lucius was a free man, and holding her tightly, close to his heart. She was home now. The monsters were gone. Upon this realization, she began to sob ferociously into his neck, hair, and chest while he continued to whisper reassurance.

"You were dead on the ground Lucius!" she wailed "He was going to kill Draco! Cut off his head like... Like..." More sobs.

"You're safe with me Cissy. I'm right here." Everywhere he touched her, he cast a little wandless spell to whisk away the cold sweat forming all over her body. His thumbs dried away her tears. With a flick of his sigil he cut on a few torches for a comforting glow.

'_Remember what the Healers said_.' He thought to himself. '_It's only her brain processing information. No prophecies, no spirits. Only bioelectricity and chemicals. Nothing more.' _

He was now soothing himself with information he didn't entirely trust. Upon first receiving this knowledge, Lucius debated several Healers for hours on the merits of Divination, only to dive head first into three weeks of studying muggle brain science. He still had trouble believing the Healers at times, but what they said to try worked consistently on this matter, so he would practice the method again tonight.

"Cissy, look at me darling." Lucius steadily implored, bringing his hands to cup the sides of Narcissa's much smaller face. Narcissa lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into his eyes as a moth stares into a fire.

"What does the dream feel like in real life?" he asked solemnly, quietly.

She wanted nothing more than to pack all her feelings behind her occlumency shields and fall into the numb trance of sleep. Unfortunately, she knew from experience the nightmares would return if her feelings weren't exorcised swiftly. Bearing this in mind, she answered without hesitation.

"It feels like life is fragile, Lucius, and I'm terrified of losing you..." She choked on the tears lodging in her throat. "...of losing Draco. My whole world could fall apart at any moment and I... I just want to keep us together." her voice was a whisper now "To protect you." her voice broke as she struggled to bury back the heartache threatening to flood from her eyes again.

He placed his tongue firmly between his front teeth to tide back the plethora of rebuttals he had for flaws in her logic. _He _should have been the one who protected _her_ his conscience demanded. Draco quite literally had the strength of a _dragon _and was more than capable of keeping himself from harm chided his good sense. The Healers told him mentioning any of these things would not quell her fears at all, and possibly hurt her more.

"Emotions are not always logical." one Healer had wisely remarked. "Love knows no rationality."

"I know, Cissy. I do." He settled on instead. "Now how would you rather have the dream end?"

She thought for a moment before responding.

"With Severus bringing you back to life and me hexing that bloody demon into the Oblivion he deserves with all his gods-damned horcruxes!"

As admiring as he was of her ferocity, that statement, right there, was why Narcissa Malfoy no longer slept with her wand. During another of these episodes some years back, she had been sleeping with her wand and fired an Avada in her half-sleep before Lucius was able to wake up fully. It took months to prove to the new Ministry - who required trace spells on both of their wands - there had been no one but him in the room with her at the time. Every single house elf had to be accounted for. It was a bloody nightmare of red tape. Not to mention he could have been killed. Again.

"Good job Cissy. Breathe for me." Lucius compelled.

She took a deep breath and sighed out a ragged exhale, releasing most of the tension that had worked itself into her shoulders.

"Brilliant my love." He placed a quick open mouthed kiss on her neck and loosed his grip on her, holding her hands in his. "What may I do for you Cissy?"

She pondered for a moment before voicing her request.

"Hum for me?" she decided. "Your voice is the best medicine."

"As you wish." he acquiesced, leaning on one elbow while unsheathing his wand from his sigil. "Get comfortable darling."

Lucius set the crickets playing again and dimmed the torches while Narcissa grabbed a soft purple cloud and gripped it under her chest to lay on her stomach. He stayed upright, leaning against the headboard with another cloud tucked behind his back. He ran the tips of his fingers up and down the pearl skin of Narcissa's bare back as he started humming what had become a familiar tune for them. He wasn't even sure where the song came from - probably something ancient passed down through the family his mother sang to him in the cradle. The words he never sang echoed in Narcissa's tumultuous mind:

In the mourning, I'll rise.

In the mourning, I'll let you die.

In the mourning, all my worries.

And she would. All of her worries would die right here, always in his arms.

**A/N: To all my friends who have nightmares, the method Lucius used has been quite helpful for me. It's a little trick to take back the power in your own mind.**

**The song Lucius was humming is "In the Mourning" by Paramore, which I own no part of, but found fitting for this situation. No, I do not have a convoluted theory of how Paramore ended up in this universe. **looking at you Link007****

**Vine **


	16. Communication

**A/N: Hello dearest readers!**

**My muse decided to come to the party this morning.**

**All bow before Dash, Lady of Death, Owner of Tom Riddle's Soul and Master of Emotional Reactions for Betaing this chapter. If you haven't read Consequences of Caring over on Priestesses of H.I.S.S., I implore you to grab a fan and do so. You are in for a treat. **

**Vine**

_2001_

Throughout his life, Severus Snape had been called many devious names that could be rightfully attributed to his personality. 'Acidic', 'abrasive', and 'guarded' were the ones that came top of mind, with 'pretentious', 'menacing', and 'explosive' as a secondary mention. These were all adjectives he owned and had no intention of ever modifying.

Despite his numerous monikers and nomers of questionable intent, he would never consider himself 'a man of ill repute'. Sure, he had made indescribably ill-advised decisions for love and acceptance. Of course, he had committed atrocities against his will and morals when pulled by two madmen with differing agendas. He hardly counted these against his conscience, seeing as they were made under the most extreme amount of duress he could realistically conceive of.

From a holistic perspective, Severus considered he made the most mutually beneficial decisions he could with the resources he was given. The scathing remarks he administered to the dunderheads he crossed paths with he considered to be the utmost public service. (_Someone _needed to point out to these sorry imbeciles the errors of their idiocy. If no one ever told them, how would they know?) He didn't go out of his way to harm others and occasionally meandered far out of his comfortable solitude to ensure the opposite. Did he not risk his life and freedom to ensure Lily's son had some modicum of the opportunities stripped from him upon his parents' untimely departure? Did he not commit to the same to bring his best friend - his godson's father - back from the grave itself? Who knows what punishment would be heaped upon him for these decisions when it was time for him to greet death for himself.

Severus was perfectly content with - and in fact proud of - his code of ethics. He would never fail to answer to himself about the results of the choices he made. If he were to fall, he would fall from his own two feet, not from the push of anyone who attempted to dictate him.

It was with this thought in mind he lambasted himself for his chosen profession.

He had spent roughly the last two decades hanging his head over cauldrons, breathing in fumes that caked his hair with oil and aged his skin prematurely. Standing all day for the majority of his life had deadened the nerves in his feet and tightened the muscles in his back to the point of chronic pain that he stuffed beyond his occlumency shields daily. Not to mention his years as a spy which had bequeathed to him numerous unwelcome tribulations from the unrelenting stress. Tremors manifested in his hands and twitches at the corners of his eyes from the rounds and rounds of Cruicios administered to him all those years prior. Occasionally, his heart would still pound ferociously and his grip on his wand tighten when others stood too close.

Despite Rianne's constant reprimands about his sleeping habits, which truthfully had never been healthy so long as he could remember, Severus had managed the physical consequences of his endeavors quite well in his opinion. He never drank alcohol in excess or indulged in the muggle cigars Lucius enjoyed. He guzzled water habitually and never ate to discomfort. In truth, he never ate much at all - a fact for which he was now quite thankful.

Currently, in sequence, his once-strong body shook feebly as he hung his head over his purposefully mirrorless sink. This was becoming a common occurrence, happening daily upon his awakening. Shattering coughs racked from his navel to his nose, peeling mercilessly up his throat to strip it of its protective layers. His silken voice grew rougher by the day as his lungs attempted to expel themselves past his vocal cords. The cavern of his chest burned with smoldering ashes, even as molten stone fought for dominance with the air his body so desperately searched for.

He wondered idly, sarcasticly even in his own inner monologue, why he had not chosen arithmancy to excel at. No one ever died from counting galleons.

At the climax of his rumination, his roommate dared knock on the door to the lavatory. Without waiting for his answer, she cracked the door a hairsbreadth, offering him a cool, wet flannel through the threshold.

As much as he wished to retort acerbically about how he knew how to care for himself and did not require her assistance, he had been methodically attempting to accept her cordialities for her benefit. It was difficult for him to accept help from anyone, even understanding her motivations were of the purest variety. Truthfully, it was quite endearing for her to offer him her services, thus he would attempt to honor her intentions by accepting them.

As such, he took the proffered cloth with a muttered 'thank you'. He wondered if his coughing had been loud enough to pierce the ever-present silencing charm he kept surrounding the lavatory, and what that may signal about his condition.

The witch slid in behind him, wrapping her arms about his waist to offer a modicum of stability to his shaking visage.

"You need to see a healer." she stated without inflection.

"I am vastly more…" he began with a scowl, only to be cut short by a gentle interruption from his companion.

"Yes, I know. Vastly more qualified than three-quarters of the staff at that infernal institution they call a hospital." she interjected, parroting the argument as he insisted on presenting it. "Still," she continued "It couldn't hurt to see what the remaining quarter might help you with. Everyone needs somebody sometimes."

Her words rang unnervingly, painfully true to him as she slid one hand upwards to rest her fist on his chest, directly over his heart. He fought fervently to swallow the coughs threatening to produce an unattractive display of his bodily components upon the polished marble. The burning in his lungs subsided a fraction as he felt her warm embrace constrict around him. She always held him too tightly, invoking too much muscle to press him against her. Perhaps she contrived if she held him too loosely, he would flit away and return to the darkness from whence he came. He would not chastise her for it today, however, for the warmth of her chest pressed to his back, the strength of her arms cocooning his ribs, stabilized the shudders and for a moment, granted him renewal.

"I'll go with you if you like." she said in an encouraging tone, parting his hair to rest her head on his shoulder "If you're afraid." Her voice held no condemnation, only the barest concern.

'_What a ludicrous turn of phrase…'_ thought the Potions Master '_What does this woman know of fear?'_

He certainly wasn't afraid to appear before the healers. Impatient, yes. Incredulous, absolutely; but never afraid. He was fairly certain he knew what their capabilities would be. He had, after all, used his own copy of the Resurrection Stone to keep his body going for nearly six years. The time between applications had grown closer and closer together until the duplicated Stone's power had waned so the restoration would only last a few minutes at best. He wasn't keen on having to return to the hospital again and again at regular intervals, only to endure the gradual descent of his health until his next appointment. In truth, it wasn't what the healers would do for him he was afraid of; it was what they lacked that caused him anguish.

He sighed in exasperation, although the sound manifested as a shudder and a hacking cough he was unable to contain any longer.

She patted his back, reaching around him to gather his daily potion and unstopper it for him. He nodded his thanks, drinking down the concoction meant to restore his throat and soothe the racking convulsions for the day.

"I will consider it." he stated flatly, not deigning to mention the obvious.

Asking '_Why would you do that?'_ would be a null point, being that he knew intimately the depths of her affection. Though he mustered a good portion of his self-restraint to ignore the more unsettling thoughts her explosive mind lambasted him with regularly, there were a few that presented themselves unignorably.

"_I adore you!" _

"_You're perfect!"_

"_Love me too. Please… please love me too." _ravaged his silence from the recesses of her mind.

So much so, he found it difficult to sleep in the same room with her, for the declarations would haunt him in his dreams as unwelcome background noise, always obliterating his attempts to rest soundly around them.

She, for her part, never unfolded this onslaught to him aloud. For this, he was in an equal measure relieved and disheartened. She remained a rock of stability, never seeming in the slightest perturbed by these notions. This led him to believe she didn't wish to acknowledge them, acknowledge _him _in any capacity save what she had already allowed.

Although he hated to admit it to himself, he had become quite fond of the company provided by the intrusive witch. When she offered to move into her own dwelling after her contract with Lady Parkinson proved fruitful, Snape felt an uncharacteristic tightening in his chest at the thought of her departure.

Severus had always been a person who was content in his solitude, often preferring the quiet stillness to inane chatter. It was much to his dismay then, when he found himself wanting at the thought of being alone in an empty attic. No chipper Rianne to lay beside him on the grey sofa. No humorous Rianne to entertain him with passing whimsy and scintillating banter. No caring Rianne to minister to his neglected spirit. As such, he extended his hospitality and left the decision in her discretion. She had chosen to stay.

She would always choose to stay with him.

oxXOXxo

Rianne had found taking a legilimens for a lover had proven to have inherent challenges.

Abstract concepts such as _privacy _and _truth _now found themselves beholden to the yet more abstract musings _trust _and _honesty_.

The working definitions used for truth and honesty could not, in fact, be used when engaging with one who knew her deepest inner workings. For simplicity's sake, truth was usually to be observed as a factual communication from one person to another. Truth was what could be observed, what happened outside of the body and without the privacy inside one's mind. Truth then would be what one chose to speak aloud; to act in the light as it were. Truth could be created. It could be owned. It followed then, that honesty would be the act of disclosing these outward thoughts and actions in good faith to another. A simple replay of something already existent.

Not so with Severus.

With Severus, there was a _hard _truth; an _absolute _factual disclosure that not only should not, but _could _not be ignored. He had access to _the _truth, the one presented to her mind's eye to be churned over and processed by her fickle heart. To pretend he didn't - or couldn't - know what was real was to deny reality itself.

Of course, she had the option to occlude. In fact, she tried it for exactly three hours one day before retiring her pursuits. Her defenses were well enough. She had managed to erect a cozy little panic room that would close the lights of her eyes and temper the quirking of her facial muscles when it was of use to her. From her occluding room, she could still the corners of her mouth and quell her fiery tongue. She could relent as a quiet observer of her thoughts and emotions instead of being entrenched in them. She could watch reality manifesting itself around her without ever having to participate.

Occluding was disturbing to her on a primal level.

The faces of those who chose to partake in this practice itched a plague in Rianne's bones. The hardened masks of stoicism, cold detachment and apathy shook her to her core. For her, seeing someone occlude was to look at a person imprisoned in a cage of their own making, while thinking their entrapments were a protective battlement. It was to observe a sniveling coward who fashioned themselves a hero.

She assumed this was in part because when locked in her occluding room, her Gryffindor tendencies screamed and screeched, pounding her fists upon the door, begging to be set free.

'_I want to be out there!' _Gryffindor would yell to Slytherin. '_I deserve to be seen! I will be respected!' _she wailed, kicking again at the defenses of her mind.

Slytherin for her part would cup her hands over her ears and whistle the Weasely's Wizarding Wheeze's jingle in an effort to remain steadfast.

Although Rianne could objectively admit to the benefits of occluding in certain circumstances, it was far too uncomfortable to do so alone in the presence of her lover. It was unnecessary on one hand and draining on the other to cravenly hide inside the fortress of her own mind.

As it was, she left the windows of her soul open for the rain to pour in. Disconcerting it was, yes; but refreshing nonetheless. She had exposed her soft belly for him; opened her delicate throat and handed him the knife - granting him in blind faith he wouldn't use it to slit her open and devour. If he did - if he dug out her heart and ate it in front of her - at least she would know it was she who granted him the power. No matter the outcome, she would never be sorry for her choice.

Rianne had forever believed any faith required to be shouted from rooftops, the penance of her voice sacrificed into a void to yield only silence, was a bad religion. Anything requiring her to drop to her knees in worship - breaking her open to draw the strength from her as fuel - any such practice was heresy. A relationship devoid of reciprocity was not a relationship at all, but a martyrdom. Valiant Rianne never fancied herself an offering to be slain.

And yet, such was her love for him.

Day in and day out, she granted him her energy without expectation. She gave relentlessly of herself, forcing her humor to the surface of her empty and breaking heart. She coerced herself to appear chipper and vibrant before him, convincing herself she would be better off to appear strong and non-plussed, even as she wanted to crumble into dust to be swept away by his billowing wind. He needed her to appear strong, she told herself, because he wasn't strong in his own right. He let his immeasurable hurts to cause him to hide inside himself, to not show whatever truths were hiding beneath his dark eyes.

She continued her plight of caring for him, drawing her strength from his witty remarks and private smirks (for they could never be accurately called smiles, in Rianne's opinion. Smiles reached the eyes, and his never quite made it that far, even in the most intimate of moments).

The worst part was that he _knew_. He knew how she craved his validation, and yet he withheld it as surely as his affection. He held it as close to his chest as the innumerable buttons of his cloak. Whether he was happy or sad, angry or troubled, Rianne couldn't fathom. Undeterred though she was, some days she wondered if vacant or aroused would be the only emotional clarity she would gain from her mysterious partner.

It was hell on earth, with her love stoking the fires. When she would inhale - the smoke burning her nostrils let her know she was alive. It was heaven.

It was in this duplicity that some may call masochistic delight she decided to take herself over a cliff and into the unknown.

Standing behind her dark love, she felt his heart thrum a reassuring rhythm behind her clenched fist. His breaths still came ragged and shaking as the potion began its work of restoring his semblance of health for a while. She held him tightly, as one might hold a crying child to absorb the trembles. She bid him to draw upon her assuredness as a last brilliantly bright red display gushed forth from his lips to paint a macabre simulation of destruction across the white marble sink.

This apparition of intimacy almost stilled her mounting voice… almost. How deliciously ironic, she thought, that this may be the only glimpse she may steal of what went on inside him.

Pulling him firmly to her, her muscles beginning to lock from the tension of her embrace, she stood on her toes to reach her lips to his ear. Today, she would irrevocably and undeniably create a truth; solid and enduring, as real as a heartbeat, as precious as the blood he spilled before her.

Her whisper caught on his skin; a shiver causing his hair to wisp across her cheek at their closeness.

"I love you."

**A/N: Now, I told Severus about himself for calling Rianne his *roommate*. He knows better. He is too old for these shenanigans… He assures me it was completely out of respect, but I can never tell with him. *glaring at Sev* (y'all he's giving me billows… I'm going to have to send him to Moon for detention.)**

**Credit where credit is due - "bad religion" is a direct quote from the Frank Ocean song of the same title.**

**"If you fall, fall from your own two feet." was a quote from my paternal grandfather, may his soul rest in peace.**

**I hope you all enjoyed this heartfelt little chapter! I'll try not to leave you hanging on his response for too long. **

**A knut for your thoughts, dear readers? Reviews are always welcomed and appreciated.**

**All my love,**

**Vine**

P.S. No one is killing Sev. -.-


	17. Attention and Connection

**A/N: All the praises to our wonderful Nyxxi-Pixie, who moonlights as a Ravenclaw with me, for Betaing this chapter. Please go check out her debut fic "Fighter" on PhoenixDragon111. It is a beautiful, light, romantic one-shot you are sure to enjoy.**

**T/W: Lemons directly following the word "tempting". A bit of bloodshed as well. Just a splash **worries for my mental health as I giggle at that****

**Although it definitely follows the plot and adds to the relationship between our title characters, this is pretty much a placation to my Coven sisters who are extra unhappy with me for making Sev suffer. **

**Sawwyy…**

**Vine**

**Oh! Wait wait, p.s. I had no clue how to adequately structure the inner monologue. Concrit appreciated.**

**Ok on with the show!**

_2007_

As promised, Mimsy had hot coffee ready for them in her Master's favorite silver coffee pot this morning. Narcissa fancied black chocolate coffee imported from Germany, and so it was. Steam wafted from the delicate silver spout and welcomed her to wakefulness with a delightfully bittersweet smell. There were egg muffins with cheese and peppers along with buttered toast and fruit for the couple. Narcissa always requested a heavy breakfast on meeting days, and today would be no exception.

As a gift, Mimsy left two small lemon tortes she knew Narcissa loved.

"Perhaps," Mimsy thought "They will comfort Madam after the screaming Mimsy heard last night." Mimsy wasn't sure what the screams meant exactly, but the screaming was never a good thing as far as she was concerned. Screaming meant Madam's eyes would be in a faraway place the next day, looking through her instead of at her. Madam would probably forget to eat, and a hungry Madam was a forgetful, irritated Madam. Mimsy would not stand for such disarray in her manor.

oxXOXxo

The sun was barely rising as Narcissa opened her eyes, the chocolate coffee lingering in the air and begging for a companion. A delicate, gold-rimmed cup floated to her and the coffee poured itself.

'_This is going to be a good day.'_ she thought absently.

Observing Lucius's portion of breakfast had already been eaten, she finished her coffee, took two slices of toast and started to get dressed for her second round of muggle yoga. As she put on the foreign attire, which was much more revealing than she was used to, she laughed to herself at the position she had gotten into.

'_What's the worst that can happen?'_ she mused. '_I end up on the cover of Witch Weekly in these awful Muggle garments, and every witch in Britain goes to buy a set? Ugh, dreadful, but not the greatest of my concerns by a longshot.' _

Of course, there were worse scenarios that could play out; Narcissa knew as much. They were, however, so unlikely to happen, a bad Witch Weekly cover seemed more probable at the moment. Therefore, she decided to end her fear-setting there. She owled Roberta to let her know she was up, and they would brief in an hour and a half. That should give her time to finish breakfast and spend some time with Lucius before the day's work.

After finishing breakfast and appreciating her lemon torte, Narcissa apparated downstairs to find Lucius in the music room, still in his navy velvet smoking jacket with the silver silk trim and matching house slippers. He was seated at the far end of the room, the rising sun falling at his back from the floor-length windows. As was often his penchant after a night of unrest, he was strumming a towering mother of pearl harp. She correctly ascertained he hadn't fallen back to sleep after the episode last night. As she approached, he wandlessly set the harp to play it's own chords and stood up to greet her.

"Cissy, darling." he drawled, the roughness of a sleepless night deepening his voice.

He reached over his playing bench for his sigil and began absently running his thumb over the snake's eyes as he looked up at his wife.

'_How was your sleep?' _would have been the next words out of his mouth, but he abruptly changed course upon viewing his Pureblood queen's bizarre costume.

She had gotten dressed at the studio during her last foray into the muggle world, thus he hadn't the chance to see the ludicrous attire but on the front page of the Prophet. He couldn't let his curiosity fester in the air. This development had to be addressed, immediately.

"This is..." his eyes started at Narcissa's feet and slowly made their way up to meet hers. "...your Muggle outfit, I presume?"

"It is." She sighed dramatically "A common Muggle outfit at that. Only for today." Narcissa said with a hint of shame, scrunching her nose.

Lucius found the greatest amusement when she scrunched her nose in such an unladylike fashion. The expression reminded him of a tiny rabbit sniffing the air, and it warmed his soul in a way only his wife was capable of.

"May I?" questioned Lucius with his hand outstretched. Narcissa nodded acquiescence.

He ran his hands firmly down her waist, stopping at the hem of the top to test the stitching with his fingers. He gingerly touched her shoulder to bid her turn around, and she silently obliged. He continued running his fingers across the stitching in the middle of her back where her arms were exposed from.

"Well?" she asked impatiently. "What is your determination?"

'_Determination. Such a fine word. Quite versatile_…' Lucius noted, much of the blood draining from between his ears.

"It is a bit... strange." '_Strange, practical, and quite…'_

"The fabric is a bit rough." He coldly quipped. "The tailoring is not formidable either."

Narcissa took the criticism stoically as he continued his appraisal.

"I do think this farce of clothing would be more suitable as... a carpet." he intoned, circling around her as he dastardly quirked an eyebrow "You should place it on the floor so we can test it's usefulness."

He said it all with a stone face, garnering a fit of giggles from Narcissa.

"Are you trying to say _my_ husband now approves of _Muggle_ clothing?" she replied in mock surprise.

"What I'm trying to tell you, my love, is you make a rug look extremely tempting." he responded, gathering his wife into his arms.

Narcissa bit her lip, and in an instant he hoisted her off the ground, placing them both atop the enormous Grand piano. (One of the first Grand pianos ever manufactured as it were.) Lucius conjured a dark mauve down blanket to cover the entire surface, as well as two gargantuan overstuffed pillows and an anti-slipping charm for good measure. How Muggles ever replicated into the billions without magic was beyond him. They must be geniuses. Or savages. Maybe both.

As Cissy impatiently rid herself of the (rather comfortable) Muggle trainers and cotton socks, her husband flung his smoking jacket haphazardly onto the piano bench, exposing his bare chest. With her lust tinted visual, she couldn't help but allow her insecurities to wonder what went wrong for Lucius that led him to end up with her. It was a mystery she often tried to solve internally, and for 35 years was at a loss for answers.

She gripped his shoulders, traced his chest.

'_He could have had any witch he wanted. Or wizard for that matter.' _her inner monologue chided. '_Still could.'_

Her muggle shirt flew over her head.

'_He could have had __**Bella**__.'_ the demons of her mind taunted.

His thighs were outside of hers.

'_She was always the beautiful sister…' _

He bit her lip fiercely.

'_Beautiful, and warded for life in an institution for the criminally insane'_ she reminded herself, leaning back on her hands, tangled in his tongue.

'_You, Cissy dear, are decidedly of sound mind.' _she assured herself, tracing his ear with the tip of her tongue, biting just a little at the end.

Her head lay on a pillow now, fingers tightening in his hair.

'_You can hold an intelligent conversation.'_ She reassured herself as her breast melded with the wet heat of his mouth.

'_You make him __**laugh'**_ she continued, as she released her fingers.

'_And you __**will**_ _cherish this moment without thinking of your gods-forsaken sister!'_

He began to kiss her stomach slowly, tracing his way down from her immaculate navel.

'_He said I look good in a carpet for Merlin's sake!'_

A carpet which now rested unobtrusively on the shining oaken floor.

oxXOXxo

He couldn't read minds, and her silence perturbed him. He hadn't the slightest idea what she thought in times like these.

'_I shall ask one day_,' he resolved, '_when my pride is less fragile, and I procure the gall to do so.'_

That was to say, possibly never. Until then, he would assume she needed more, and he wouldn't disappoint. He was truly terrified of boring her.

'_A Malfoy does __**not**_ _succumb to terror.'_

Carefully, he slid his knees down to the piano bench, mindful to not disturb the keys.

'_Nothing like a crashing of unharmonious notes to kill the ambiance.' _

Grabbing her hips in his hands, he pulled her thighs as far as they would allow over the tops of his shoulders and kissed fervently between them.

'_Will you remain so silent now, o stoic bride?'_

She let out a breathy yell.

'_Better'_ he mused.

He dug the pads of his large fingers into the weakening flesh of her thighs and breathed in deeply. She trembled in his arms. His tongue alternately dove completely into her glistening depths and joined his lips to lave the exposed and aching nerves.

At his continued ministrations, her body shook violently and arched into him, craving to be filled. Reaching to forcefully grip his hair and unrelentingly force his wanton mouth into her apex, he felt her temperature rise dramatically. Using her grip for stability, she pulled herself raggedly upright as her face and breasts flushed.

'_Much better.' _he thought triumphantly.

She let her legs down to rest her shaking calves around his ribs and used her leverage to pull him closer. They locked eyes. Their bodies melted together like ice in the sun. The last time they made love in the music room was shortly after Lucius's resurrection. Time was a cyclone, and she was missing a large portion of her memory, but she could always recall the most important bits.

"I love you, Lucius" she whispered.

Holding his weight on his forearms, eyes still locked in a trance, he murmured his greatest weakness to the one he trusted most -

"I love you too, Cissy. More than anything."

Feeling flayed open at the weight if his sentiment, she crossed her ankles around his waist and allowed him entrance. He plunged entirely at her command, as she pulled him in deeper with each thrust. He groaned as he dipped his head down to kiss her ears, her neck, her collarbone; enjoying her warmth and setting a deep and sensual rhythm.

"Harder" he breathed into her ear, his request barely audible over the pounding of their hearts.

"As you wish" she whispered back, fire in her eyes.

She raised her hands, small and strong, to rest on the broad muscles of his shoulders. At once, she slid her perfectly manicured fingernails into his porcelain skin, gashing open his back in one swift movement. He barely winced as his warm blood trickled over her hands and down the slim contour of his waist. The pain was always soothing for him. He felt he was receiving an infinitesimal amount of the destruction he had caused his most loyal companion, and in some minuscule way, atoning for a fraction of his atrocities.

Sensing his increasing satisfaction, she sank her gleaming white teeth into the muscle of his shoulder, drawing circles with the tip of her tongue on the swell as she did so. As she did, the blood started pooling under his fair skin where her nails scraped down his neck, lighting his nerves ablaze while never quite breaking the barrier between them.

She felt his breath quicken as his pace became punishing, the deep strokes shortening to shallow drags. The muscles of his jaw turned tight and grimacing. He was begging for release.

She closed herself around him and granted his desires.

A few quick scourgifies later, and all of the love and sweat and blood was vanished. The two lay in silence, soft kisses and caresses to calm the rush. The only sounds to be heard for the longest while were the chirping of birds and a still strumming harp.

As she carefully dabbed dittany across his back and shoulders, their reverie was broken abruptly and with a *pop!*, as the ever-fidgeting house-elf, Pip apparated into their midst, apparently bringing some news of dire urgency.

"Madam! Master!" the tiny creature with overlarge round glasses began in his usual frenzied tone. He was looking at the floor and rapidly firing off words like scattering birds as he paced.

"The peacocks have refused to eat their feed again Master! They are creating an unsightly uproar on the front lawn and Madam has a visitor at..." the elf stopped short as his breathing hitched, eyes growing unsettlingly large when looking up at the tangled limbs before him.

"OH NO! Pip is SORRY! Pip is OH SO sorry!" The elf repeatedly stammered as he ran headfirst into a pillar three times before Narcissa halted him.

"Please stop, Pip. It's quite alright. Please invite Dr. Granger in and serve tea. I will be with her momentarily." she instructed nonchalantly, as if she were dressed in her finest robes at a company meeting, not laying thoroughly debauched and completely exposed atop a piano.

The elf nodded once curtly, accepting his order.

"Yes, Madam. Good day, Master." hastily and needlessly adding "Again, Pip is sorry." before he popped out to meet Dr. Granger.

"Poor Pip." Narcissa noted, stifling a laugh.

"Spare me." scoffed Lucius, waving a dismissive hand. "Many a wizard would pay a vault to have been in Pip's place just now." A rare, blinding, snow-white smile crossed his face.

"Your vanity becomes you my love." Narcissa purred through a wicked grin. "As do my love marks." she continued while running her fingers down the thin trail of crimson bruises on his neck, stopping to place a kiss on his collarbone. "Humor me, love, and don't glamour them today. I'm excited about seeing you this way tonight." she finished by locking eyes with him and biting her bottom lip in a mischievous grin.

"Anything for you, Cissy." He growled in response, his wrists resting contently on her shoulders.

He didn't question her request. And no one would question what happened to him. If they did, he didn't have two Knuts to rub together and give them for their troubles. If his witch wished to mark him, he felt happy to oblige.

"Let us be decent when we see Dr. Granger, then?" Lucius questioned rhetorically, Accioing their long-discarded garments.

"I don't know about decent, but we should at the very least be dressed." replied Narcissa in a clipped, sarcastic tone.

The two smiled at each other as they prepared to depart.

**A/N: Whew! Well, quickie before work after all of Lucius's meticulously planned seduction? Yep, that happened. And I must disagree with our protagonist, she is definitely not of sound mind if she is worried about Bellatrix Lestrange while she has Lucius Malfoy at her disposal! Ob..vi..ous..ly *in my Snape voice*.**

**Would love to know what you think! Thanks for reading! - Vine**


	18. Honesty

**A/N: This chapter is short. I recommend reading slowly to savour the sweetness.****Enjoy!****Vine**

"I love you."

The words seemed to echo aloud from the polished surfaces of the lavatory, and louder still in the clandestine mind of one Severus Snape. Time stood still for an instant as they reverberated in his consciousness, shimmering off his occlumency shields - beckoning to be granted entrance.

"I love you."

How many times had he heard her think it? How long had her mind cried out in anguish with the very words now dancing along the skin of his neck? Somehow the audibility, the vibration of physical air solidified it; called into existence something that had before been only a phantom of his imaginings.

"I love you."

Not wishing to leave her wanting for an answer (for surely her heart would be pained and she would dissolve into tears before him) he turned to release himself from her hold, gathering her in an embrace of his own. One arm held her waist to his hips, one hand pushed her head to his chest. He wasn't yet ready to meet her eyes, knowing what he would have to say.

Love was not a sentiment he tended to enter into lightly. In his perspective, it was so much greater than a passing whimsy, so much deeper than a feeling to ebb and flow with the inevitabilities of human existence.

For him, love meant action. It was a choice to be made and a resolution to uphold. It was a commitment to the well-being of another. To seek joy from the joy of someone other than himself, to provide aid when needed, and occasionally, to put his own desires second to the needs of another.

Could he do it then, and did he want to? These questions had been pieced apart and drawn through every sieve in Severus's mind for days. They ran like sand through myriad filters of cynicism, caution, and expectancy until he reached the words now skating on the tip of his tongue.

"Rianne," he began, running his fingers through the hair barely long enough to be sifted through before arriving with a firm touch on the back of her neck. "Look at me." he implored.

He was delighted to see no shimmering tears presented themselves; no red-rimmed lids puffed in anticipation. Only a lopsided grin on her falsely full lips gave any meaning to the maelstrom of her thoughts that were bombarding him expectantly.

He looked forward into the murky grey depths as he closed out the storm of words better left unsaid. He was designing a truth, brash and unrepentant, perching treacherously close to the edge of his heart to dive from his tongue and fall from his lips.

"I will try." he intoned softly, honestly. "You have my word that I will try with all my being to love you as you deserve to be loved." He held her tightly, a bit too tightly, robbing her breath to be used for his own as he continued. "I am not an affectionate man, Rianne, but I promise I will listen. I will remain observant, and I will care for your mind and your heart to the best of my ability. If I can give to you only a fraction of the devotion you show me, if I can grant you a modicum of the respect you grace me with, I feel I will have rendered my service gloriously. I... mmpph!" With wide eyes, he was cut off in his love-struck ballad as she took his lips roughly, forcing his silence with the grasp of her hand in his hair.

They devoured the taste of honey and amber as her lusciously glamoured lips overtook his two to one. His broad hand irrevocably connected them at the base of her neck pulling her closer with a vow that he would not be the one to part from her. They melted into one another as two burning candles, finding each other where their forms dissipated beneath them. As the smell of fresh cotton and warm bread filled her senses, she knew that she was home at long last.

They stayed in that space for a breath, the declarations soaking through their beings to soothe their exasperated nerves; feeling the anchoring solitude of brand new promises and a heart to return to. A whisper of 'always' floated in the breaths between them along with… applause?

Rianne reluctantly separated from her lover's caress with a gentle drag of her teeth along his bottom lip. She turned curiously to the door, finding Snow and Claw peeking through the threshold.

The tiny elves were bouncing on their toes, clapping their hands in excitement.

"What are you doing here?" Rianne asked without thinking, through a giggle and a grin.

"Why Miss," began the American elf, placing a fist on her hip bone and pointing accusatorily at the lovers with her other hand "It's about damn time Master and Miss stopped draggin' ass and admitted how they is in love!" Snow nodded in agreement as Claw tossed her ears back over her shoulders in a show of intimidation.

"Besides," the brazen elf continued "...how is Master and Miss supposed to have fluffy towels if some elf doesn't fluff them!" she threw her hands up exasperatedly, muttering to herself about "no respect… Claw can't with these people…" as she stormed away.


	19. Authenticity

_2000_

_"Yeah. I suppose I could use an adventure."_

Pansy hadn't known from whence her words had come, only that they had, and were now irreversibly existent.

Like her voice, the woman appeared abruptly, suddenly materializing in what appeared to be a blank field at the foot of a low green hill. The apparition must have taken them quite far indeed, as the sun which had set back in London was now once again dallying just above the horizon.

"Tell me," spoke the fae witch "...do you suppose you'll be able to make it to the top?"

She glanced head to toe over her counterpart inquisitively, apparently appraising the needlessly high heels and ostentatious flowing gown.

Pansy scrunched her nose, squinting her eyes slightly in something like a wince, as if the mere thought of mounting the small hill sent worms writhing through her belly.

"Can't we just apparate?" She said in a tone of disgust.

The blonde woman's laugh was a chime in the wind.

"We could, yes." She replied. "But it would take most of the fun out of it."

Pansy snorted. Anything aerobic was not considered "fun" by her definition, nor remotely enjoyable.

"Well I'm certainly not making it up there in this." the dark witch gestured to her attire. "And I'm shite at transfiguration, so unless you have any better ideas, I'll be keeping myself here."

The fae-witch kneeled down, examining the offending footwear.

"These aren't suitable for walking, much less hiking." She ascertained, mostly to herself. She tapped her bent knee. "Foot?" She requested.

The dark-haired witch gave her a wary glance before setting one spiked stiletto atop her strange companion's leg.

Luna gingerly unfastened the myriad straps and buckles, releasing her counterpart of the unnecessary confines.

"Other foot." the blonde intoned with a grin. Lady Parkinson obliged and was subsequently relieved of her right shoe.

"There," Luna stated with smug satisfaction, standing up and looping the straps of the footwear around her middle finger. "Let's go."

She cast a quick protection charm for Pansy, on the off chance she might step into something unseemly.

As the fae-witch set off, Pansy remained at the foot of the hill, staring dumbstruck.

"You don't seriously expect me to walk up there barefoot?" She yelled incredulously after her companion.

Luna sighed as she turned around to look right through Pansy with a faraway stare.

She sat down on the grass, unlacing her muggle trainers to reveal rainbow-striped socks with swirling silver threads wisping up and around her lower leg. Pulling a drawstring knapsack from her back, she shrunk down her trainers and the stilettos to stow them away.

"Better?" she questioned.

Pansy gave a withering sigh, complete with a defeated glare.

"This will be fun," Luna whimsically reassured her. "I've been here many times. If you don't like it, I'll carry you. Ok?"

There wasn't much the disgruntled Parkinson could argue with in that statement, other than her traveling partner didn't appear to have enough fortitude to lift her. Perhaps she was adept at lightening charms from carrying around cameras and such. Pansy decided to give it a go.

"Ok." she resolved, as her hand found itself pulled up and away towards the beckoning adventure.

She imagined they must appear like two lost schoolgirls frolicking over the hillside. Her in her flowing gown and Luna in her odd muggle accouterments, both shoeless and holding hands in a gut-churning wholesomeness Pansy would typically find extremely unpalatable. Adventures, she supposed, would necessarily be initially unpalatable, as that would be the adventure-y part. Exiting one's comfortable complacency to embark on something new.

It hadn't been all unsavory experience for the Parkinson heir. Not that she had ever made a habit of being outdoors, but from her limited experience, the grass was the softest she had ever felt. It was nestled with the tiniest dew drops, cooling her skin gently as it caressed her soles. The Earth hummed it's magic straight through her being, relaxing her mind and body as they ascended. Soon, something strange began to occur as the greenery swayed flexibly to and fro beneath them: Tiny glints of light were left in their wake as they passed.

"What… what are those?" Pansy stuttered at a whisper, stopping in her trek while releasing her companion's warm hand.

Pansy turned around to look down the hill, gasping involuntarily at the trail of iridescent splendor twinkling wonderously in the purple glow of twilight.

Luna paused as well, turning to investigate the question further.

"This," she knelt, placing a tiny bit of the glittering powder onto the pad of her finger "is fairy dust." Her eyes widened as she said it, in the tone of a little girl telling her closest friend where to find a secret stash of chocolate.

Her smile was not one of far-away contemplations as was her usual, but complete presence as she locked eyes with Pansy.

"F-fairy dust?" the dark witch stuttered.

"Yes. There are many uses for it, but this isn't the best of the surprise!" the enchanting blonde remarked cryptically through widened eyes and a gleaming white smile.

The childish, optimistic look of anticipation on her counterpart's face was enough for Pansy to squelch the disturbing inquiry of what part of the fairies the dust came from. She was intrigued enough by the prospect of the awaiting surprise that she decided to swallow her disgust (ignorance is bliss and such) to continue stepping through the mysterious substance to find out what would greet her at the summit.

As they neared the top of the hill, Luna once again turned to her date to assess her attire, staring silently at the gleaming purple gown.

"Would you quit looking at me like that? Salazar!" Pansy cursed, crossing her arms violently over herself at the continual silent appraisals.

She had long been used to the leering stares of wizards and the constant judgementalism of her pureblooded peers. (See: every word uttered by Daphne "you would be a stunning witch if..." Greengrass and Draco "you've lost weight everywhere but your face" Malfoy).

Luna's gaze, however, felt nothing like theirs. It wasn't picking her into pieces, segmenting her attributes for dissection and analysis. It wasn't evaluating and assigning merits to her every feature. Instead, it was absorbing. It was taking in the entire picture that was Pansy Parkinson and simply viewing. Seeing what was there, what was her, without continually trying to improve it. Pansy had never been looked at in this way that she'd noticed, and her lack of inherent reaction deeply aggravated her Slytherin sensibilities.

The affronter of her morale spoke again.

"When will your glamour charm run out?"

"Midnight, our time."

"Did your glamour team give you the cancellation spell?"

"I'm sure she did. Not that I was listening."

The glittering ring of Luna's laugh lingered on the wind.

"If you will wait here a moment, I'll go talk to them."

She walked off muttering "imitation fairy lights" while shaking her head, as Pansy wondered who "them" entailed and if she had made a wise decision in following the eclectic witch to unknown territory.

As she watched Luna disappear over the summit, she heard a cacophonous ringing of high-pitched bells. It was the sound of celebration, the welcoming home of a prodigal daughter. Minutes passed as she listened to the music, impatiently anticipating the return of her enigmatic companion.

No sooner had she debated on apparating home did Luna appear followed by a tiny ball of golden light floating above her left shoulder. The bells, she deduced had to be a form of language, as Luna opened her mouth to present the musical sounds to the shining orb.

As the light floated closer to Pansy, she felt a warm blanket of calm cocoon her in cozy surrender. She noticed mutely the floating glow contained a tiny being, no larger than the palm of her hand. She couldn't tell if it was male or female, as the short-cropped hair and slender figure could have been either. She felt compelled to speak to it, but wasn't sure if it would comprehend her human language. In an uncharacteristic moment of sincerity, she offered a genuine smile in hopes it would know she was greeting it in peace.

The being shook it's head in confusion, sneezing the most brutal wind directly in Pansy's face as all of the imitation fairy lights went dark. The being nodded it's head first to Pansy, then Luna, as if to communicate "My work here is done." before flitting off to assumedly join the anonymous "them".

"Come." Luna requested, once again encasing Pansy's hand in her own.

The warm and soggy feeling enveloping the Lady Parkinson brooked no room for argument as she docilely floated with her counterpart across the precipice.

The sight before her was glorious. Spectacular in it's simplicity; striking in it's minimalistic beauty.

Thousands of glittering orbs strung high throughout the blackening sky, disappearing amongst the stars and galaxies making themselves known in the crystal-clear night. Shining in pinks and turquoises, violets and greens, colors Pansy couldn't accurately describe in words, the shifting arrangement was brighter than the most prestigiously cut diamonds in her vault; more iridescent than the surface of muggle children's soap bubbles.

Luna leaned to whisper in Pansy's ear, sending an unbidden shiver down her spine.

"These… are _real_ fairy lights."

oxOXOxo

The witches sat languidly in the soft grass, listening to the chattering bell-language and being caressed by the gentle breeze. They had been silent for most of the encounter, taking in the breathtaking demonstration. Their hands which had long since grown sodden and wrinkled lay still intertwined on the grass between them. Neither seemed to notice, as the serenity of the other's embrace was enough to quell any plausible discomfort.

The calming feeling emitted by the one fairy had been heightened many times over by the lengthy time spent in the presence of the hoard of them, and now Pansy's skin was blissfully buzzing with delight and her mind was a serene picture of tranquility. As such, her thoughts began to flow like music from a songbird; uninhibited, and never abashed.

"These…" She gestured to the fae-lit sky with her unencumbered hand. "These are your people?"

"They are." Luna replied nonchalantly. "From my mother's side, but our familial structures are different."

Pansy didn't question further, as her blissed-out mind knew it couldn't comprehend a Ravenclaw facsimile of a Pureblood family tree in this state.

"Oh." she replied instead. "I didn't know fae were people... I mean, I didn't know fae could be humans."

The blonde arched a quizzical eyebrow at the other witch, imploring her to continue painting herself into a verbal corner. As suspected, Lady Parkinson did just that.

"It's just… I didn't think they could be our size, you know? All through school, I thought you were part veela or something."

Luna laughed at this development, and Pansy's eyes stung with tears at the beauty of the sound. She wasn't quite sure when she had devolved into a Hufflepuff at such sentiments, but endeavored to listen nonetheless.

"If I was a veela, I suspect I would have attracted more attention." the fae-witch noted.

"Oh, you attracted attention!" Pansy concluded, snorting hard before landing flat on her back in the grass.

"I suspect I did." Luna lay beside her, propped on one elbow. "But not the kind a veela gets. You got more of that, I suspect."

Pansy fell somber at the remark, not wanting to ruin her new friend's high with the sobering thoughts of her inadequacies.

"Yeah…" she mused aloud, anxious to switch topics. "Hey, what was in that jar you had?"

"Oh, this?" Luna inquired, Accioing the jar of nargles from her backpack. It still glowed blue, with the black cloth now seemingly suspended in the air within. "It's a piece of a dementor's cloak."

Pansy sat up abruptly, choking on her own saliva. Luna patted her back graciously until she regained her oxygen.

"Dementor's cloak?! Shaggy Merlin's sodding beard! How the hell did you get something like that?"

Luna shrugged, propping herself back onto both elbows as she looked off into no particular place in the distance.

"I asked."

"Asked who?! The Ministry?"

The fae witch shook her head in exasperation before breathing a chuckling sigh.

"A dementor. I asked a dementor."

"You asked. A dementor. For a piece of it's cloak." Pansy restated incredulously.

"Yeah, why not?"

"But WHY?!" Pansy yelled, once again sitting up to stare down at her companion.

Luna sat up as well, sandwiching both of her hands between her own.

"Are you going to trust me enough to let me explain? Without interrupting." she clarified.

Pansy nodded acquiescence.

"Good, now…" she began, pointing to the inside of the jar.

Pansy's brain melted as she languidly noted that she inadvertently signed herself up for the exact type of Ravenclaw explanatory prowess she had explicitly been avoiding.

"Dementors feed on negative energy. They have to use force to blow all of that positive energy away to get to the juicy little depressive bits they like. That's why when they are around, it feels like all of the happiness and warmth is drained away from you."

Pansy nodded to illustrate she was listening to the best of her inebriated ability.

"That's where the nargles come into play. Nargles can keep negative energy channels open. That's supposedly why they steal your socks and such. These little irritations add up and give the dementors more streams of sustenance to work with."

"So, innocent little Lovegood is helping the dementors fuck up people's lifeforce? Quite snakey of you if you ask me." remarked Pansy, arching an appreciative eyebrow at the dastardliness of it all.

"Oh no, not quite." Luna replied levelly. "See, dementors don't need humans to feed on, they just need the bad vibes. The dementor gave me a piece of it's cloak to attract nargles, and once I catch them, I drop them off by the dementors' breeding grounds. Win-win. It helps keep the nargles and the dementors away from us."

"Wow." was Pansy's only sentient thought. "I had no idea. That's brilliant." Talk about simple inconveniences easily solved. Who would have ever considered negotiating with the embodiment of evil? And yet, it worked splendidly. "What would you have done if it would have kissed you?"

"Died, I suppose."

"Yeah." Pansy agreed, suddenly regaining the fuzzy feeling of contentment which had somewhat abated with the aforementioned conversation. "You did hang out with that idiot Potter. I suppose all of you were a nervy lot."

"I suppose so." replied Luna, sighing into the wind. "Stupidly so at times. But you were nervy as well if I remember correctly."

"You obviously don't remember correctly." Pansy huffed. "I was Draco's sycophant," she stated with no inflection. _'How did those words make it out of my mouth?'_ she wondered. _'Must be the fairy dust.'_

"Yeah, Malfoy was a demanding little brat, wasn't he?" Luna mused flatly. "But on the contrary, I thought offering up Harry as a sacrifice was quite bold, if misguided."

Pansy cringed and folded in on herself, the air in her lungs suddenly escaping as her airway stood silent.

The fae-witch spoke softly.

"For what it's worth, it would have been a smart tactical move. I don't blame you for it."

If Pansy had any illusions of her resolve being intact, they were ultimately broken in that moment. Those may have been the kindest, most understanding words ever directed at her. The decision she had been ridiculed and vilified about for the better part of a decade was suddenly vindicated. The shame that had been thrust upon her and carried deep in her heart was lifted off her countenance with one nonchalant comment.

"Thank you." she murmured, pulling in the blonde's hand to lay it over her now pounding heart.

She pressed it there with both hands, for once, cherishing the laying aside of her identified persona. She closed her eyes and breathed the sweet aroma of fairy dust while listening to the fading tinkering of bells in the sky.

"Can I kiss you?" she muttered, as a nearly identical "May I kiss you?" echoed from her left.

Pansy opened her eyes smiling as she looked into fields covered in snow and unhampered reality.

"Yes." they said in unison.

A/N: Ha! A/N's at the end this time! Gotta keep y'all guessing!

All hail Tempest E. Dashon, Queen of Lemons, for reading through this chapter and endlessly cheering me on.

I've received lots of positive feedback from the Pansy/Luna dynamic, and I must say they are fun to write. Since I am trying diligently to improve my writing, I have a teeny tiny request for you, dear readers.

Can y'all please let me know how Pansy translated to you? I'm trying to see if the themes I'm trying to convey are coming across well or getting lost in translation. Gratitude for your efforts.

Thank you, as always, for sticking with me through this fic.

We have some action-y stuff coming up soon.

Stay tuned!

All my love,

Vine


	20. Brotherly Love

**A/N: Hi readers! Thank you for joining me!**

**See… What had happened was… Muse got real bossy with me… **

**This fic has taken a sharp right turn from the science fiction fic I originally had my heart set on. I understand if you want to unfollow because character study is not what you signed up for. As I grow as a writer and data scientist, I find telling human stories is my strong point and what I enjoy, so… is what it is.**

**Also, I wrote this chapter almost a year ago, so try not to fault me too hard if it's missing the "lush imagery" you have grown to love.**

**Tempest E. Dashon served as beta for me, and her fic Fallen Angel has me reeling every single time. Read it read it read it! **

**Vine**

_2001_

Draco accompanied his parents to the cottage where Severus retreated to work on his potions and "get some bloody peace and quiet from the blundering idiots asking for favours when, if they would think about the problem longer than five minutes, they could find the answers for themselves." as he so quaintly phrased it. They arrived early - Lucius was always a punctual man - and took the extra time to stroll along the red gravel path through the rich forest leading up to the cottage. The air was chilly, the mist filling their eyes and cooling their lungs. It was an overcast day; the thick canopy of trees let in only streaks of light here and there. The trail could have just as well been lit by fireflies.

"It's quite beautiful, in a sad sort of way." came Draco's voice, steady and commanding. "Such a place seems quite suited to Godfather."

Lucius glanced sideways at his son, not speaking. As the small stone cottage came into view, the trio's otherwise leisurely stroll came to a noticeably abrupt halt. Peering through the open window, Lucius was gripped in horror, although no signs of shock appeared on his face.

_Dear Merlin. This is not like Severus. Even miles into the woods he would never leave his front window open for the world to be able to see in! Especially when...Gods-damned NO!_" He gripped his sigil ever so slightly, plotting how he would fulfill his promise to Severus. His mind whirred and heart pounded as innumerable life-debts pulled apart every strand of his will. _Brother, whatever lies beyond your door, whatever Dark forces have their hold on you, I will save you. I will protect you. _

"Well," Narcissa drawled calmly, running her fingers over the place where they were clasped to Lucius's elbow. "It would appear Snape has taken a paramour."

Draco's calculated mask dropped momentarily in pure shock. His eyes widened and mouth fell agape at the sight before him. His eyes had to be lying. He had obviously been confunded. He noticed he was confused. There before him, through the large, open window of Snape's cottage, was his mean old bat of a Godfather, snogging the daylights out of a beautiful bronze-headed witch 20 years his junior.

Narcissa turned her head away, suddenly acutely interested in the flora of the landscape. Draco however, was watching a train wreck. Severus's kisses were fierce - seized from her. He held a fistful of her blazing bronze locks, and she held two fistfuls of his. She was sitting on the edge of a heavy oak desk, held steady by the free arm of Snape standing in front of her.

Lucius ground his shoe into the rough gravel, causing a grating sound only a bat would notice. Swiftly, the pair in the window untangled themselves, and the witch popped out of existence as if she had never been there to begin with.

The Malfoys approached the front door, Lucius taking the lead with his wife and son close behind.

"Severus, my brother!" he crowed as Snape swung open a heavy-looking, deeply carved oak door.

"Lucius, you old pain in my arse," Snape replied dully, a slight smile dragging up the corners of his wide mouth. The two managed a quick embrace.

"Narcissa, Draco," he acknowledged the remaining Malfoy's and shook their hands in turn until Draco pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

War and death had made Draco rather sentimental, and he was no longer one to withhold his affections. Only seeing each other a few times a year, Severus was no longer accustomed to his godson's gushing ways, and instinctually gripped his wand before settling to pat Draco on the back.

"Do have a seat. I've made tea for you all. Nothing compared to the Malfoy tea gardens, but it will keep you from falling asleep."

Narcissa replied politely "Anything you have prepared for us is excellent Severus. Something warm is most preferable to the mist outside."

She was always the one to show gratitude, to play the game expertly, even in the presence of family. Severus levitated a large silver tea tray to the table, and four generous porcelain cups began to fill with hot Earl Grey.

"To what do I owe this visit?" he asked.

Draco was the one to reply -

"Father told us you are ill, Godfather."

"Ten points to Slytherin," replied Snape in a mocking tone. "Yes Draco, holding one's head over countless simmering cauldrons for a majority of one's life is apparently not only bad for the hair, but the lungs, and entire respiratory system. Since the Stone is no longer readily available, I see the Healers once per month to ensure I continue to breathe. If not, the results would be quite...unpleasant."

Draco had tears in his eyes now. He couldn't stand the thought of seeing Severus's body, cold and unmoving. Not breathing. Dead. The way his father had been. Severus always protected Draco with his life, and now, he wasn't sure he could keep his promise to bring his Godfather back if that life slipped away from him.

Severus seemed to pick up on Draco's train of thought and responded in kind. He sighed a put-upon sigh.

"Draco, for now, I'm fine. The Healers still have access to the Stone's channels, and your father continues to donate to St. Mungo's regularly. So far as I know, I'll live. If not, as it stands, death comes for us all eventually."

"You know, you are a piss poor comforter Godfather," Draco said through a choked laugh, wiping the tears off his face.

"That's what your wife is for, son. I am here to teach you, not comfort you."

Narcissa drifted into her Occluding space as Severus and Lucius discussed current goings-on at the Ministry and Draco pretended to listen.

Ever since the entire wizarding world was opened up to the powers of the Stone, getting access to it directly was impossible. Harry's team created a way to channel the Stone's power through many Healers around the world, but the effects were much weaker, and impermanent. Falling ill, and being sickly, were common now. Graduates of every respectable education system in the world were being pushed towards a career in medicine. However, the fact remained not everyone was a Healer, but every single person needed to be healed eventually.

Then, there was the matter of resources. Despite Harry taking two full years off from running the hospital and the Ministry to solve the logistics of feeding the exponentially growing populous, and another 5 years to house them, all was still not well in the world. Although every nation wanted the powers of the Stone for use on its people, not all of them wanted to give their resources to his cause without some obvious privilege. The wealthy nations claimed they should be given precedence since they were the primary funders. War-torn nations claimed they should be the first to receive aid because they were in the direst need. The rest of the world twiddled their thumbs while the most fringe nations tried, again and again, to seize the stone for their own gains. It was a bloody mess, and the sick suffered while bureaucrats played their war games.

Muggles were no better off. Muggle science was now on-par with Healing magic, and could now extend and improve lives beyond what was ever thought possible. Still, only an infinitesimal number of Muggles were ever alleviated of their suffering. They had no Harry to usher them into the future.

This is why Narcissa charged herself with the seemingly insurmountable task to change the way the world worked. She had no intentions of ever losing her husband, her friends, or herself. Never again. She would defeat the final enemy.

While wizarding magic was fixed and weakening, Muggle science was growing ever stronger. If she could find a way to light the wizarding world ablaze with technology, and to put reins on human conscientiousness, perhaps life energy itself, she could possibly, with just a sliver of hope, save humanity once and for all. All would be well in the world; Narcissa would see to it.

As it stood however, each breath she was taking was a gift. All of their lives were specks of sand in the windy desert. This realization sank deep into the recesses of Narcissa's heart as she saw the man who once conquered death gasping for air in her presence.

"You have quite the grounds here, brother" segued Lucius none-too-subtly.

"You would like a tour then I suppose?" Severus asked rhetorically, preparing for the interrogation to come.

"That would be wonderful."

Lucius shot a look to Narcissa meaning he planned to question Severus alone.

"If you will excuse us, Severus," she chimed, right on cue. "As much as we would love to see your beautiful accommodations more thoroughly, Draco and I should really be heading back to the manor. My daughter-in-law will be waiting for us for dinner. It has been lovely to see you again. Thank you for allowing us into your home." She left no room to question their departure.

"You're welcome any time." Severus acquiesced, defeated. He knew he would have to swallow any delusions of secrecy where life-debts were concerned. He had been discovered fairly and would own his repercussions accordingly. Stalling, he knew, would only prolong the inevitable and increase his mounting anxiety.

The group stood from their seats to bid their farewells, giving blank promises to see each other again soon; soon is a relative term after all. Then, mother and son apparated home.

Lucius came from a long line of wizards who garnered their wealth by extracting secrets. It was a science and an art Lucius had practised since he was a toddler, and continued to teach his son. He didn't survive the Dark Lord's followers, or prison, based on his good looks alone. The two wizards departed the front door to stroll the grounds as he prepared to hone his craft.

"Where do the wards end brother?" questioned Lucius as the pair meandered off of the near-endless porch into the vast expanse of the lush green property.

Lucius never would expect his friend to reveal such information to anyone other than himself, as it would render his protection useless. Then again, how many people would Severus realistically let near his home, to begin with?

"If you can see the cottage, you are inside the wards," Severus answered cooly. "They extend from the crests of the hills on either side and as far as the eye can see to the east and west." he continued, loosely motioning a thin, bored finger in each direction. He understood the conversation to come, and so didn't humour Lucius by noting aloud this blatant intrusion of his privacy.

"That's quite some security you've put in place..." pondered Lucius, the question unasked lingering thickly in the mist between them.

"Keeping one's home invisible to interlopers helps to keep the pests out," replied Severus with a sidelong glance. He was feeling more and more like a teenaged boy covertly explaining to his older brother why he kept his bedroom door locked, and chastised himself internally.

Although Lucius truly was impressed by the expanse of the wards for such a modest dwelling, he wasn't surprised in the least. Being left alone, he assumed, had to be one of Snape's highest aspirations in life. All the more reason to advance quickly to the business at hand.

"Ah, I see. It may explain why you've taken a fancy to leaving your windows open then? You never have been one for fresh air."

Severus held his breath, and while keeping his stone visage replied "She likes to watch the wildlife. There's a deer with fawns she has taken affection towards."

"An animal lover, eh?" smirked the elder wizard, assessing his friend with a patronizing glance down his nose. Severus never looked up to entertain the jest. "Does she have any idea how many of them are stewed in Merlin-knows-what liquids in your lab, brother? Surely she would protest."

"She understands certain remedies require life force, Malfoy. She knows her way around a cauldron and thus doesn't judge me for it." Snape intoned defensively.

What was not expressly stated, however, was how he'd started searching for a suitable substitute for newt eyes the second he saw her tear up upon viewing the small creatures' bodies stuffed into jars. He even went so far as to place a repelling spell around his quarters so he wouldn't find the need to kill, or - Merlin forbid - touch, some rogue spider who decided to invade his premises.

"It was merely an observation, brother. No need to invoke my family name." retorted Lucius through a slow grin, reminiscent of bared fangs. "Speaking of, does the witch have a name?"

"There was also no need to.. _observe_.. the contents of my lab, _brother_," Snape answered snidely. "You know bloody well many of my potions have saved countless lives, as you yourself may attest to! And her name is Rianne."

Lucius was on the verge of laughter at the telling rebuke, but decided to restrain himself lest it stoke the flames of his friend's already simmering temper. If Snape wanted to play the brick, he would continue playing the mason.

The blonde responded with a hint of smug condescension -

"Who are you trying to convince, me, or yourself?"

At the rebuff, the two men walked in silence through the dewy fields of clover, the trail wearing out and disappearing after some way. As the withering yellow light began to tuck itself away behind a thick grey cover of clouds, Lucius knew time was of the essence to draw the information he needed. He had no intentions of having Narcissa wait up for him or bearing her silent wrath. He decided on honesty to interrupt the swishing of wet greenery beneath his boots.

"I would love to flatter you with how stunningly beautiful she is Severus, but frankly I didn't get to see much of her face. I'm quite surprised you didn't send her away sooner, knowing we would be arriving."

There, he said it. Bluntness was never his forte, but Snape was making his pursuit about as simple as extracting thorns from an agitated hippogriff. A hint of melancholy seeped into Severus's countenance as he responded carefully to his friend.

"_Sending away_ good company is never an easy feat," _Not that you would ever understand, _he added internally.

Lucius had been married to a woman he adored since he was a boy. He was continually surrounded by gawking admirers, flatterers, and would be cronies yearning to do his bidding to get in his good graces. Extraordinary looks and pockets deeper than many governments had a way of increasing the empathy gap a bit. Severus had no pretence of _the_ Lucius Sodding Malfoy understanding what it felt like to be lonely.

Lucius, abandoning his unproductive forthrightness feigned hurt and embarrassment at having walked in on the affair.

"Yes, well, it seems she was in no rush to be dismissed at any rate. It was more than obvious you two were occupied. If you had a floo here, you could have sent for us and we would have delayed our visit at your request."

Severus saw right through his affront.

"You know you're never intruding, Lucius. I have nothing to hide from you." he lied in response.

This was not going as Lucius had planned. He needed Severus to be sincere, to find out what in Merlin's name caused him to suddenly change a good portion of his persona so rapidly. Snape being Snape, Lucius never assumed such an ordinary and mundane cause for the strange effect this woman was having on him, but thought it prudent to ask nonetheless:

"Tell me Severus, do you think you love her?"

Severus stopped dead in his tracks to turn and face his interrogator, all signs of his trademark glare vanished in an instant. He couldn't very well claim he had nothing to hide, then deflect this all-out assault on his bluff. His friend was bound by innumerable debts to protect him, yet knowing Lucius, it would be perfectly plausible he found some loophole to skirt his obligation. Against all of his well-honed logic and reasoning Severus thought the scenario unlikely and decided to believe the former, even if only to placate his own longing for connection.

"She's mad about me Lucius." he began with a distant grin, black empty eyes gazing absently past the grey icy ones ahead of him. "She has had affections for me since she was at Hogwarts. She's never been married. Said she feels like something has always been missing. I've tried to be rid of her on multiple occasions, however, she persisted incessantly."

Lucius cocked his chin upward and raised an eyebrow quizzically, coaxing Severus to continue melting into his palm.

"She's relentlessly attempted to prove her loyalty to me, Lucius. She nags me to death's door to see the Healers when I'm scheduled. She goads me to go on bloody walks in the forest because they say the air outside is good for my health!"

He raised his voice a bit while discussing his health, echoing his deep timbre ominously from the surrounding hills. He dropped his volume slightly as he continued.

"She leaves me in peace when I need to think, and never _pesters _me to reveal anything I _wish not to reveal,_" The glare was back at this last statement, fierce as fiendfire. He continued "She can hold an interesting bloody conversation! She pines for my agreeability! What am I supposed to do Lucius? Tell her 'thank you for the undying support, but your presence is unnecessary'?"

"It wouldn't be totally unheard of." Lucius mused honestly, studying his meticulously manicured fingernails for imaginary traces of dirt. Severus had been telling witches to take their affections and shove them back up their hearts since puberty. No reason this one should be any different.

_Unless_…

"Do you think this has something to do with the curse?"

"Of course I don't, you daft idiot!" Severus shouted, his baritone reverberating from the hills into the surrounding air. "Don't you think if I intended to make you cross a life debt I would just murder your glittering arse and turn your hair for a profit to some scum in Knockturn Alley?! I already ran her through every damn one of those blasted spells in Potter's lab at Hogwarts! There's no chance she's another victim of Rasputin!"

Any mortal being would have been speechless at the rebuke. Luckily for Lucius, he was a Malfoy, which in his mind was elevated from the ranks of mere mortals.

"You would be a rich man indeed my friend." he crooned "However, as I recall, you supposedly have more magic in your hair than I have in my entire body to hear you say it, so you might fetch a better price for your own."

With his last remark, Lucius slapped the irate bat on the back and turned him ever so swiftly in the direction from which they came. "Come now, it's getting late. We wouldn't want your witch getting feisty with you if you were late to your feeding."

Severus jerked away from the touch, softening his countenance a bit. Not to be bested, he bit a scathing reply.

"She's a hawk animagus. If you imply anything else about that Merlin-damned curse, she may be the one feeding - on krait."

Lucius laughed and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Tsk tsk... if you fed me to your lover, how would you ever get a chance to sell my hair? Quite an imprudent business decision on your part Severus. I thought I'd educated you better."

"Sod off, Malfoy." was his inarticulate rebuttal.

The two wizards strolled back to the cottage. Severus, feeling humiliated at having bared his heart to the most arrogant bastard ever reanimated, and Lucius feeling triumphant at accomplishing his day's pursuit.

Fiddling with the few strands of bronze and black hair between his fingers in his pocket, he now felt quite certain he could keep his promise to his brother, perhaps even without bloodshed.

This had been a productive visit indeed.

**A/N:**

**Blood Curses and Animagi?! Oh my...**

**"****Cliff Hangar, hanging from a cliff, and that's why he's called Cliff Hangar!" Any 90's kids who get that reference - 70 house points. **

**Credits - **

**In "Severus Snape and the Art of War" by CypressWand, Snape tells James Potter his hair is greasy because of hanging over cauldrons, causing him to have more magic in his hair than Potter's entire body. I like to think he probably gave Lucius the same jab at some point.**

**"His kisses were fierce, seized from her." Is a line from Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality by Eliezer Yudekowsky. **

**If you haven't read HPMoR - it may just be the greatest FanFic in all of FanFicdom. There is an audio version on YouTube as well. Revival by xingxingzf is also the best subfanfic. **

**Sorry the A/Ns were almost as long as the chapter itself. I feel like I owed y'all a thorough explanation.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Vine **


	21. Announcement

Hey Peeps!

I'm going to take this profile down. Well, the stories anyway.

So, if you want to save any of them, do that, and...

If you want news and copies of the original works I'm co-writing with Tempest E. Dashon, message me.

Also, for sneak-peeks of the new stuff, make sure you are following Tempest E. Dashon.

All my love,

Vine

Wait wait... P.S. ... Many Magics is up for adoption. Feel free to take it and finish it if you feel so inclined.


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